Have you ever seen the veins of poetry?
As if born of the nothings in between,
The spaces a story with no setting;
More profound, I think, of thee.

I met a lady who was a nose
And mountains that were eyes,
I asked them both a question,
It was the mountains that replied;

"Melting moonrise--
We quiver at your river,
For fear of falling in--
But we can't step away from the reflection,
Rejection is surmise--"

I am but borrowed passions,
Everything a gesture
To impress unrequited lovers,
My lips touched by corpses;
Caressed by the dead
As an object of ***.

Each kiss poisons--
Hollows this person,
Until she is naught but body--
Skin, *******, and withered bones--
Lying in a coffin, legs exposed;  
She'd call it necrophilia
But life had left, long, long ago.

Slowly but surely,
Falling in love with this city;
With myself in this city.
Never want to go home, but-
They say home is where the heart is.
If that’s true, then

Maybe I’m home already.

Dandelions still the night with kisses,
Teasing the wind at my lips;
It isn't too wise to wish-
But oh! Dandelion Moonrise,
What are your wishes?

Love is metal wires,
Bent upward,
Knotted together
In matrimony--Or fear--
I've never known which.
As for me? Well;
I'm a bird.
And I refuse to
Have my wings clipped.

Oh, beautiful flower,
How wistful in woe,
Paint peace in your petals
And peace in foe.