There are poems about you , which do not live,
its a sad kind of disguise
but they grew ,
developed body parts ,
bloomed like buds ,
and found their way straight through my summer plumed heart
to write about how it felt when your hands touched me ,
and your arms felt more soothing than the star blue bed I miss home back.
your thoughts are crabbed , creating the sallowness of fear .
the bitter sweet time we spent projects into my little dumb mind ,
then makes my tears like vinegar , or bitter blinking yellow missings .
with forever my lips curving in an arc .
coming of you was not so easy but you made me alive now.