Eyes of hazel
she is April,
showering all my days,
she is killer, I am Abel.
Evil; in her ways.
Walking backwards,
the sweet disaster.
And teases like
a winter's blackbird.
Mirrors,
where I see her
how they make,
make things clearer.
Pacing down familiar stairs
chanting old, empty prayers,
looking for ghost of months gone by
here she come, there she lie.