Crepe myrtle blooms, pink like the blush of fever
roots growing from the broken bones and spirit
but drinks from the lingering passion of past lovers.

Your footsteps are the creeping of violets throughout
the garden, yet I can feel your touch on the air as it rains,
your memory like the wood smoke from across the street.

I lick my lips, apology and sin, at the tip of my tongue.

Lavender and sage drift in waves of smoke
soft and subtle like your ebony hair flowing
through my fingers as my lips brushed yours.

Blood rushes to my cheeks and I gasp still-
fever overcoming shock as you touch me,
siren on land waiting for the tide to come in.

Once a hesitant explorer, meekly tracing your
beckoning curves and scars I now salivate-
wet with hunger to devour you inch by inch.

But we are little more than bleached bones,
memories grinding into dust with one foul move
blown away in the wind to feed new life.

There are some who may prefer a cloudless sky and the touch of a warm sun. These hearts are similar climates, and you may find them at no great distance from the equator.

Not mine.

My love is for the sedge and moss covered upland of frozen lakes, where the cold white blanket covers the steppes. Peace is found here, among the ice and whispered within the biting gale as it travels over her skin.

Her chill breath touches me, and I am not driven away.
For within my chest beats a fire as black as space between the stars.

And I go unclothed, as the caribou carry me across the frozen land.

I am the horned god.

I cant stand silence anymore.

All it does is amphlify
all the worse thoughts in my mind
bounce along the walls and echo
such a cacophony of metaphysical sound
that my body cringes.

Alone, that inner dialogue of infection
steps away from the recess and whispers.
And alone, the sound carries.

Sleep is impossible without a fan
and the AC is loud enough downstairs
that sitting alone is only miserable.
I stretch out and my eyes find my phone,
distraction a short term remedy but no...

I remember the sound of your fan
sitting in the door of your room,
our bodies intertwined, skin on skin
the warmth forming sweat that ran
like your cat across the room, the maniac.

I remember the sound of your AC,
you so proud that your new place had it,
sweet symphony to your ears, a pleasure
that spread like my legs and the cold rush
drowned out by the heat of you inside me.

I recline back in darkness, AC clicking on
images rushing past, hunger churning.
Too sad to eat, too tired to sleep - nonsense

Nonsense that something so small, normal
meant so much and could cause all this.

Bumps raise across my skin -
summer left with haste.

I shrug and cringe but dont
reach for the blanket at my side.

I stare and remember the heat
radiating from your bare skin.

The holidays are coming -
what joy.

If I were never to gain your heart,
Id have liked your warmth through winter.