i want to curl in her collar bone
the valley copious with soft smell from a dress
she has on all the time
a night of honeysuckle sweet
recalls in taste on the roof
of my mouth
that keeps all words to her
but spills out as a cry
kept in the pillow.
a hollow mind
a theater for exhibitions of past
leafed through my flight of the short life
i lived
it shuts as a green light reflects in irises
of my garden
with the beloved suns of hers
and a beaten milk glass of his
a gloomy blue boy puts them to sleep
and a leaf crisps under a silent step of mine.