In the lowland fens at the worlds end,
Like the ferryman, a blue heron waits,
Eyes of dragon fly, hover, over still water,
His legs are the oars rowing to the dead.

I want to be your fantasy, your reality,

And everything between

I want you to see me in your sweetest dreams

I want you to feel me in everything your hands touch

I want the taste of me to never leave your lips

I want to be the world to you, I just want it all

I want to be the eyes that get to look deep inside your soul

I want to be your deepest kiss

The answer to your every wish

I want you to never ever let me go

I want to be hidden inside your heart

I just want to be everywhere you are

I want you to hold me too tight

I want you to make everything alright

I want to be loved too much by you

I just want you to need me

Like I need you.

© Ashley Rodden. All rights reserved

the moon is waxing
the tide is flowing
my soul is coming into estrus

there are no answers
only decisions to be made
actions to be taken

the universe is waiting
courting my being
an invitation to expand

I made you a mix-tape and called it leaves,
because your hair reminds me of autumn when they fall from the trees

I made you a mix-tape and called it snow,
because your pupils remind me of ice and where it grows

I made you a mix-tape and called it warm
because your smile reminds me of the sun and it’s yours to adorn

I made you a mix-tape and called it new
Because you remind me of the flowers that bloom.

I've come by, she says, to tell you
that this is it. I'm not kidding, it's
over. this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her arrange
her long red hair before my bedroom
mirror.
she pulls her hair up and
piles it on top of her head-
she lets her eyes look at
my eyes-
then she drops her hair and
lets it fall down in front of her face.
we go to bed and I hold her
speechlessly from the back
my arm around her neck
I touch her wrists and hands
feel up to
her elbows
no further.
she gets up.
this is it, she says,
this will do. well,
I'm going.
I get up and walk her
to the door
just as she leaves
she says,
I want you to buy me
some high-heeled shoes
with tall thin spikes,
black high-heeled shoes.
no, I want them
red.
I watch her walk down the cement walk
under the trees
she walks all right and
as the pointsettas drip in the sun
I close the door.

This is how I’ll end;
not with a bang or a bonfire,
I’ve saved an apple for the pale rider’s horse,
and will smile when he bends down from the saddle
to carry me away.