dams crack and leak
from your hammer.
your nails are no match
to the painful rebuild
with hardening cement.

as if it were paper,
you ripped my
heart

Don’t juggle hearts-
you’ll be splattered in
blood.

the Shadows,
enslaved eternally,
jeer dull stigmas
and
roar glorified lies
through which
diminishing their angst
comes to no avail;
the Shadows
bathe in salty
puddles against sheets

pulsing flames churn
streams of ignited honey,
as grey fumes-
of burnt aromas -
beckon nicotine clouds
and lukewarm breaths
to embark in
a dilatory tango;
hardly coordinating with
the strummed instrumental
that lulls the
snow to
sleep.

jagged lines
as though a child created
then in crayon.
bold, beaming
thunder strikes.
their fingertips trace
dips and peaks,
until they engulf
pale skin.
until the pink
matches her cheeks.
until they match those of the
tigers,
zebras,
okapis.