your night-rose, sweet
yet such honeysuckle hides in your
girl-graces,
in the gravest mirror of my eyes
rises the frailest rose,
its unmindful bend and its
return to my hand's deepest grave —
o, the wind sleighs my hair
unearthing its roots — in this summer-gladness i am
one with the morning's terminal
flush, its beforeness is my sleep
brimming with the waters of waking
and you, whose eyes
inevitably, the day in the horizon.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
your night-rose, sweet
yet such honeysuckle hides in your
girl-graces,
in the gravest mirror of my eyes
rises the frailest rose,
its unmindful bend and its
return to my hand's deepest grave —
o, the wind sleighs my hair
unearthing its roots — in this summer-gladness i am
one with the morning's terminal
flush, its beforeness is my sleep
brimming with the waters of waking
and you, whose eyes
inevitably, the day in the horizon.
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