The sky cry’s
A scream of frantic worship
You pant the bitter wind
As rain and sea rip into me
Smearing blood over the rocks
I let the storm crush me.

As you may admire her from the peak of a mountain
Know that she commends the gardens she made below
For His will in every season
She will make beauty out of the weeds-of-wrath
As will in the likeness of clouds
A strong woman is prized in both seasons
Don’t fall for folly when you only catch her touching the stars

The little bird no longer flies
she sits and mourns her broken wings
her tattered feathers, faded now
will never feel the breath of spring.

She sings now for the life she lost
a silent sweet lament
such sad refrain, if heard aloud
would break the hearts of men

The little bird falls quiet now,
Her end is drawing near
and not a single soul will know
that she was ever here.

The taste of slow tequila, sharp and sour
That vinegar-acidic, honey-bitter
Brush of fingers, always marking our
Time together. Now, you say you fit her
Much better than a blanket, warm and lilac,
You call and say, “I think you have my blender
Still at your place.” I never said goodbye back
When you first left. Sometimes I just pretend her
Bed is empty. There’s nights I’ll cry, then bury
My head inside your pillow and your vinyl.
Don’t worry, I’m still laughing at When Harry
Met Sally and at kittens and that final
     Time I saw you dance to Beatles’ Getting Better
     While I was making breakfast in your sweater.

Abstract extremities
Indirect, flawed with hidden meaning
The author is dead
That's what they said
She's put away,
Still screaming
To this day

We were meant to bleed,
but not to be
vermillion scars
withering roses
beauty dies behind these sheets,
and love is lost
beyond the willow trees