when, I know I use to be the one to press my bruised lips
on your heart grown masculinity
and how I remember the way my youth pressed against yours
in scorning praise

I remember you like sullen days
I remember you with scars on my face

I carry on being born in the morning ,fresh breeze from france
and a  cigarette hanging off my lips
I write of you,
with words of a woman who has been bruised

this is how I write of you
its as if i dont know how to speak of you
as if I drag the words out like a slave
carrying stones of tyranny on my back
but I know its something I must do
to rid the pain and **** the  statue

how can I hold you in my art
feel you like lucid fluid between my fingers
gasping for air, the molecules within my stagnant blue veins
blue for you
blue for you

never to see that impression again
your smile has faded
and put to sleep with the wolves

what did I do to us
besides give myself youth
and give you yours