I'm sure it's predictable by now, the starts
& stops, the usual way of speaking
like ink is coming out of my eyes,
your eyes,
every opening

     let's close them.

Too much velvet, too much smoke - too much love, it's love, it's always love. It's too much, we get it!!

I can't stop writing about flowers
   but I never go deep? Too
clever. Too witty. Too descriptive. too pretty.

I won't do it and wild roses will stay
a simple vision in passing, with nothing else thought to be said
in our
absence.