one thing we are never told
pictures taken in polaroid
have a way of fading over time

very much like you and me
and the picture we used to be
no longer has that kodachrome shine

it happens to the best of us
the color fade of wanderlust
bringing out the worst in black and white

one thing i'm relying on
although i'm barely hanging on
is the picture of us left in my mind.

take that finger
and point it at yourself
i did nothing but dote on you
and try to offer my help
so quick to shift the blame
and pin it on everybody else
got that self inflicted pain
from causing all this hell

The goddess of the spent moon skulks to her feathery bed of fiery dawn.
Wrens through the uplands wend the fence weft with piecemeal straw.
Lips painted like pomegranate groves, dashed with fructifying sweets.
A kiss is a far-off and warm opening of lips like the sun into forest gleams.