Crocus-hearted bloom, in careful ways
he cultivating quiet love inside
that snow-filled part of him. Across I stray
the border of his acres, vast and wide.

Through his field I dragged my hungry bones,
but the landscape holds no place for me.
The gentle gardener has tilled his rows
and through the soil he has spent his seeds.

Somewhere a lady wears her mother's dress
shining  ivory, pale as orchid bulbs.
Her heart it bangs and thunders on his chest
like storms, and in their rain I am dissolved.

Woman, hold him through the night when dreams
of me rise like demons from the angry sea.

Let my ferocity, and passion eloquently paint the pictures in my own regrets, tattering the canvas of my own flesh.

Let the foul, and the sweet, mesh together into brilliant concepts caught from the thinning air that only you can breathe.

Let me inhale deeply, savoring every contaminant, every exacerbation, and every nothing that means everything to you.

Let me touch you with every inch, with every intention, and every lust of smiling eyes, that pass over you when you walk by.

Let my fears fill you up with the love intended to be, just let me, be, next to you, in a storm of our foolishness, numbing our chores for the day.

Lets lose ourselves afloat in static temptations powerlessness, as it pulls our eyes closer to the ends.

Lets no longer resist natural instinct, and merely exist in the same place this day, so that we may long for our tomorrow.