Said the fawn unto the fox:
Sing to me a song of happiness
And the fox swirled rusty 'round
her twig legs- breathing about her
a scarf, crimson draping the snow.
First- said the fox:
First, show me your secret antlers,
and then I shall sing to you a song
of all the happiness of the earth.

Said the fawn unto the fox:
antlers, I have not.
They are spoken within a tree
and written in his knots.
And the fox swirled rusty 'round
her twig heart- breathing within her
a Sun, crimson draping her soul.
Then- said the fox:
Then, take everything you know
feed it light to make it grow
until the tree is the whole sky
and you are the North Wind, just as fast
telling stories to the aurora borealis
and making promises to last

And then, said the fox:
*And then you shall be mine,  
and I shall sing to you a song
of all the happiness of the earth.

Afternoon-light in our periphery
our cerebellums glowing happy like...
maybe a plate of cheesecake, and two bent forks
the atoms that separate 'you' from 'me'
laughing within a jitterbug
but now there's no cake for us.

Why aren't you here?

afternoon-light in our periphery
and our cognitions like a strawberry swirl
Sweet, home-made, toujours innocente
and I scratch your brilliant head for
the secret to unconditional love
and your smile becomes lyrics,
the first line of a perfect song.

Shoulda come.

At the bottom of a teacup, we reveal
our secret selves, in a boy scout pact of friendship
spit-locking our hearts into a ferocious loyalty
to take care of each other in our parallel lives
and to cherish what we cannot see.  

Because I cannot see you,
and you cannot see me.

I forgive you, next time- it'sraininganyways
i'mnotmad, i just don'twant to revealhow
muchyou mean tome.

You shoulda come, friend.