some song waits till evening
-to make itself known
the changing season
-the perception of light
a spirit transformed
-voices reborn
the flight of the mind
-songs of the heart.

supple milk of love
in a white ladies gloves
her bond with opal and elmo's
exchanging teeth and teet
without you hateful glint of sate

the troubadour's of the fertile planning
and bartering of commanding
not of your wools or job's tilting loss
only of another war in wording, forgetful toss

You are my tangerine,
Brimming bitter-sour
Across the wretched, dusty room.

And you brought me
An orange touch of sun
Glitter glowing on my skin.

To wake wide in the morning,
Curtain dances with fresh air
Into my smoker's lungs.

Even to my deathbed remains
The scene of you that will
Leave me between the walls

Of longing and regret.
And to my morning sunlight,
I will never become better.

I say to you, my tangerine,
You are my very will to live,
And to die, if I cannot save you.