I dug up forty five holes
With the countenance
Of a widow in mourning.
I planted you in the dirt
With the continence
Of a monk praying.

My sinful soul
Is fertile soil.

I've planted  forty five dreams
In this piece called "heart"
I've been watering it with tears and hopes
And still
Forty  five touches
Won't bring you here in my life.

I have forty five dreams where I kiss your skin
And there are forty five light million
years
Between your eyes
And mine and my smile.

mother cried
because she was beautiful
her daughter,
the placid girl.

she cried,
because the men wanted her,
yet could not love her.

as millions plucked
flowers for their beauty,
then threw them to pavements.

they touched her,
because she was beautiful.
they defiled her.

they ripped the petals
from her throat,
and left her to wither,

a rose on the sidewalk.

I sit on the bed by the window
Naming the falling leaves.
You sit between the scribbled paper walls
Counting the ever-opened scars.
While the coffee grows colder,
I think of you,
Seven hundred and seventy seven
Kilometers away.
While the bottle falls empty?
You hit the floor with it,
About a thousand
Worlds away.

I hold my hand out in the void
In case yours reaches.
You hold still on the damp floor.
Empty bottles are old friends..

I whisper like madmen, words
I don't understand.
You silently hold your breath, while
Inside storms are raging.
Fracturing physical form,
Savagely splintering spirits,
Shattering shimmering souls
In the incessant night, ****** red hue
Flowing
From Little girl Blue.

Your heart
A badge in your lapel
Stabbed with a safety pin
Dripping dark shadows
On your black winter coat

Your eyes
The sins you never commited
You keep them wide open
Shooting bright sparks
On the moving frame of your world.