and I spent
to make a
of you in a
I made this
but I lay
it on your
I'm sorry, honey
You are like a soul,
that died, but never moved on,
left to linger in my doorway,
like a past season Christmas wreath,
that just never went away,
only because it knew, I enjoy it's company.
Skirt so yellow and bright
Eyes blue and wide,
with lips pursed right.
“Where is your joy,” she sighs?
Cotton shows years of wear
still flows yellow, and bright.
Her lean body craves to share
him hard and yielding tonight.
After she threw the bridal wreath
their joy spilled like carpenter’s glue.
No longer did they sample from beneath
yellow skirt and sweater taut and blue.
Her scent is a flower named dangerous,
so he struggles, pulls away; all the while
wanting his graying head to rest
upon her breast and relish the joy in her smile.
I come floating to you Mother, dead on the river, body bullet ridden: this is how God reaps His harvest of faith.
See, those columns that support the sky now, carried once the roof of our temple. The fire burning the pyres now carried oblations to our ideals; But we face a jealous God consuming in wrath.
Here I come, un-wreathed, unsung, wet in the tears of the skies, skin carrying scars of resistance, eyes open to the tyranny of faith.
Clutch my hands, let me feel the love that birthed me, one last time before my Spirit moves onward and beyond to the worlds of light.
the gentle Equinox was ours
though our time together was not always so
you tasted like magic to me
and we came together with all the fiery sweetness I imagined love to be
two halves of the same coin
it was I who dried your tears
and you who held me close
and yet I am unacknowledged
who walks the long road with another
you have already begun to forget the heart laid at your feet
when I gathered the blossoms
when I consigned my heart’s desire to the flames,
when I laid the Solstice wreath beneath my pillow
It was you I dreamt of.
the meadow under
on the dark sky,
and after a long run,
swaying and spinning
with that wreath
on your head,
the one that
i love too much.
and you'll get tired,
and be out of breath,
you'll fall onto the ground
yellow grass and
the one that you love
and you'll stare
and stare into
until your eyes start
to close and you'll
falling into a peaceful
with flowers, stars
The wreath, quick, I am dying!
Weave it quick now! Sing, and moan, sing!
Now the shadow is darkening my throat,
and January's light returns, a thousand and one times.
Between what needs me, and my needing you,
starry air, and a trembling tree.
A thickness of windflowers lifts
a whole year, with hidden groaning.
Take joy from the fresh landscape of my wound,
break out the reeds, and the delicate streams,
and taste the blood, split, on my thighs of sweetness.
But quick! So that joined together, and one,
time will find us ruined,
with bitten souls, and mouths bruised with love.