you came
you left

 and yet the trees still sway
     and summer still comes
all that remains is a strange longing,
 memori­es that rose like cyclops in the
night
                      
the trapdoors of desire,
 the black-holes of our sharpened
       souls

if you could be god, and
               come back - if only for a moment, to tell me I was right,
 then I would make your words my epitaph)

my purpled lover, like  a
bulbous flower protruding from it's
 stem,
you have eaten all the breadcrumbs,
so how will I find you again?

­ even if you had disappeared like
  an evening ghost,
      our souls had touched,
  and for the first time
  I could see the stars in other  peoples' eyes