Don't believe a songbird.
Or, taste a nectar foiled by
a dream on a glazed afternoon
whispered but not heard.

Touch the bottom of this
hospital bed and spit
on everything you knew.
Surely, you'll sorely miss.

Clench your toes in the tulips,
and your hands idle in grass
tickling nature's hair, not hers;
this love, all within your fingertips.

Don't remember the days
Where the moon held the sun
firmly in its elusive courtship.
But beg to recapture that gaze.