Standing
in the open rye of
your creaking heart
a blowing out sun
spinning in my brain

Too much. I said.
No. You said.

Standing in the open rye
of your mocking eyes
a blue honeyed moon
spinning in my veins.

Your heart scattered in the green grass of summer,
As my heart reform in the smell of white roses.
The past in the isolated island growing strong,
As the future fading slow.
I whispered.
"I love you."