settle in the rose—
a hideaway.
my shoulders turn
the air.
my scapula-
smooth moments—
dead.
living.
intrazombie.
it’s my smoke which
wicks your
love—the foolish
gray, unfree and
blind. I believe
I am half—troubles
far. fingers
burning ginger
freckles through
the white page.
somehow
the rock and flint
set you afire.