Sometimes I wonder
Whether I’m too gentle
Feeling your hot breath writhe over me
In a cloudless dream.
My bruises sting, my property lies smashed
Upon the poppies, their petals trembling,
Trundled on,
No more.

Your voice, clear as day
Carries across the synthetic pasture
The winds, though soft, distort it.
You sound far away, even though you’re further than before.
Wiping your brow, the sweat trickles down
The wonderful smile covers a frown
That both you and I know
Shadows of fear, shadows of death
That you try to overlook now.

Sometimes, in the harvest
Of luscious fruits and succulent crops
That we manifested ourselves
I feel you close, your hand in mine
The warmth of your smile glows, radiant

And then - the winds return
And your voice is lost, once again;
The poppy’s petal blows
And my face, it becomes cold.