two lovers have the daylight withheld
from her room with just enough gray light
sneaking through to illuminate a single silver slice
of two gyrating bodies.

he sees her as a spider
because she sees him like
...a dog

their music reaches a strong ******,
and reaches, and reaches, when...

the light turns on.

the girl's skin falls like a curtain
to reveal the white young skeleton beneath;
roses grow from her bones.

at her absence,
the boy's moan ruptures a layer in his heart and he explodes
but she has disintegrated to his emotion,
his dark abstractions

her body now finds his feet
as a cool stream of water in the summer
as lines of real poetry, sometimes
when he thinks of her.

and her body now finds his head
when he finds himself courting a universe
unresolved, so he leaves for a walk
through the forest one summer day.

there will always be some flowers in some bones in a bed,
there will always be some flowers in some bones in a bed.