Gasping in your western shadow, sweet one,
I scribble to you a testimony
for catacombs unfurling at your feet,
where bodies dream of you—my only.

One fallen egg, swept up by the wind,
upon you now confers a splattered pearl,
once nestled kindly ‘fore the setting sun
‘**** your arms, my fast n’ skyward girl.

One cherry hornet, stripped of prideful airs
by such unyielding singularity,
begs his broken limbs and shattered wings
to snap an unrequited symphony.

Calm in clay but shake-n spirit, one boy
wilts in waiting for your leaden lips
to part and welcome ‘nother fool’s parade,
to swoon lovelorn with every breath you strip.

They’re mad, those fools! Oh, to imagine you would!
But you might temper the thought—won’t you?