She was told to get to a nunnery;
Warned not to get involved,
To step aside.
His love was inconstant as the moon,
Defined by worthless trinkets
And very poor poetry.
Instead,
She went lily picking,
Broke her mirror on the bank
(is that a belly bump sinking),
Shattered him to despondency.
It's time for poison and rapiers:
The royal family's dead;
The stench is lifting.

I'm not in love.
I once was,
The knock-down feeling,
Gasping.
Was it on a summer log,
Or was that jealousy
Of the lapping  water at your feet.
The snow angel made
When you lay down.
The burning leaves still tingle.
I picked the orchid corsage.
Love goes,
But never seems to leave.
I've compared.
You're more fragrant,
Warmer, cooler.
Still in the world
To remind
There's only so much time.
The date will follow
The chiseled hyphen,
No other name
To read.

The stars aren't as tasteful
       as I'd hoped they'd be,
You fickle moon,
You eclipse of a lover.
           Vinegar.  That's what
those cosmic light bulbs we
call stars taste like.          Raw
and savoring, bold & eccentric.
          Kissing summer on winter's lips
          The cheek of spring still stings from autumn's hand
And I'm marooned in this fine
                            red wine hour,
  nostalgic in the art of reading
          The hum of dragons pulse~
The whisper of the wolven breath,
                         This time around your blood
                                        was thinner than ice.
Twisting the tendrils of our thistled love
across my snowy throat,
            Crimson is so ******* beautiful
It was your job to swallow sunsets and it
was mine to throw up sunrises.           We
followed the commandments branded on
my cheeks.  
                         It was the only bible we had,
                         Because my scars were worth
                                                         "s­omething"
When the roof of the sky meets the jaw of
the sun, the teeth are the clouds & constellations.
I fed the world my spine because it was starving.
         chinking off marrow, and mouthfuls of my flesh,
Devour me.
                    And in my wake you shifted the lapis void,
                     forcing my eyes open as gold tears spilt
Streetlamps groaning at midnight,
will you watch the ravens with me at 3 a.m?
I'm not one for fate but,
          destiny is mine for the taking.
Bones wish they're bending,
     yet promise they're not breaking.
I bargained my soul and sins with Lupus,
and now I am his poet.
                       A daughter of aurora borealis,
                     buckets full of silver  sloshing admist
                           my eyes.
                      When I no longer love you,
                               it will be silent,
                                and tragic.
.

In the height of summer
The pond shrunk to a hyacinth heart.

The kingfishers left for crystal streams
Village belles no more washed their hidden shames
Kids broke their frolics on her kissing splashes
And men dipped not in her to whisper secrets.

She prayed to hold through all the pains.

The sky heard her and sent her rains.

Two thousand four hundred and fifty five days
spent floating the vacuum of space.

My lungs ache with misplaced distaste
for the beautiful sights surrounding me.

I used to add them all up in romantic displays
but my math of late just ain't what it used to be.

Obtuse angles of obtrusive angels portray
ninety degrees of too little, too late.

Sat down and watched the sunset.
My soul laughed. I never want
to be any other way.

Imperfections everywhere,
I still love them.

Perfection? It doesn't exist.
You have to craft it
with your imperfect ways.

It happens
when you learn to love a broken toy
or a rainy season;
It comes when
you dance to your favorite song
alone with your mind;
It triggers
kisses your lips never felt.

I sat down to watch the sunset,
knowing that that was all.
Anything else would be too much.