stripped from my lashes.
they hurt.       those snowflakes
evaporated twinkles muddled within
his aborted adoration
nevertheless determined to sail his seven seas.

if only my limbs were like marble
so fine against his brow.

suppose I wish to harvest my heart for him
tend it well, pluck its weeds
have visions of him having it
pillowed, tucked underneath
in slumber next to his.

silly of me to
think he wouldn't let it
friend with cobwebs and dust hares.