listing, lilting reveries
for ghosts of the chrysanthemums,
you listen, tucked between my knees,
for crying out as autumn comes,
then breathe the bottled air
while lying silent in the pasture
as the sun that rises slow,
renounced as Master,
dries the aster.
steady, subtle change renames
the song we'd often sung
which, ravaged, new and agèd,
saps the honey from my lungs.
to lie in leaves and rapture
turns my bones Parisian plaster:
crack my ribs and what is there
is yours to capture.

these hand-holding dreams
are disturbing my sleep.
i clutch at the sheets
as it creeps over me
with its blanket of flowers
whose petals count hours,
the tint of a rose
until now,
from when i fell for you
in that christmas-lit room:
a horizon of eyes
over, under the moon.
no, i couldn't have dreamed
that, again, here we'd meet,
locking fingers, again,
fast asleep.

tell me it's for my own good
sell it to me like a ******* vacuum cleaner
peddle it, baby
knock on my door
and sell me cheap romance:
a product that
always
just slightly
outlives its warranty.
tell me that you loved me
you really, really did
but there are no refunds
and for three easy payments
of anguish, time, and torment
you were mine, mine, mine:
what a deal!
tell me it's for my own good
when you break down early
i'll get my money back
and take it gambling
where the odds are better.
it's just like you said
just like you said it would be
in fact
the only guarantee i was given
hidden
not-so-plainly
in the fine print.
I'll invest in something else
and you can keep your broken promises.

planted in a garden,
with roots tangled.

we share water
while we grow,
and curl our tendrils up together.

when the shovels come,
after birds and bees and sun,
they'll pry us from our ground
inseparably brittle.