the white cottage stood still
in the midst of softly and sparingly
murmuring hues of lavenders and blues.
and the green, my love, faded
little by little to white,
but it remained voiceless.

it was you—
the only soul that quivered.
you walked barefoot, holding mine,
the honeyed wails were your compass,
although the needles weren’t still.
a scream there, the point shifted;
i hope you weren’t looking.

the wind rose when you were close;
the shades quieted,
closed their eyes
in a prayer that you glimpsed
the art of their eyelashes fluttering,
as you once did mine.

did you become unaware
of the violent beats of my soul
in the grasp of your beautiful palm,
when you saw me standing
and waiting for you on the wooden porch?

nothing respired when you stood where i stood.
you ran your fingers through the wet tangles of my hair;
drips of blood slipped by the green veins of yours.
behind your back, your lost friend floated,
his hue, like wry branches, growing back
across his outstretched arms,
leaving behind pink plump lines,
as i had mine tied once upon a time on your bed.

i recognized by the way
the muscles on your back
tensed underneath my fingers
that you knew.
i lost my breath,
trying to feel yours.

“i need you on your bed
in your birthday suit
right this ******* moment,”
your whispered,
and it touched me in places
your hands weren’t
and sank into my bones.
i moaned,
your grip tightened.

you didn’t kiss me.
“yes, daddy.”
i reached the door ****,
your shoulders facing me.

my dearest love,
when i heard the gunshot,
i had only one question screaming within my mind:
who did you love more?

i hope the azure in your eyes
was never weakened by your love.