if kisses are green and bodies verdantly exact in sameness
let my hands be two birds glorifying the waters in the slopes
of fingers,
if song is but undeath and the rise and fall the unalphabeted siren
of the morning,
such loose wind swaying over her silently as loincloths
over blackred roses, easily it breaks like a finger of a shadow
whirling gently through opened windows in candid moonlight
but if surely does your going signal the dawn but no birds
wreathing the trees and no gardens inherit garlands,
what shall then be two birds over waters but a single stride
of sorrow and whose temporal flights disdain centrifugal faces
of waiting; measured, coveted, photographed, love everywhere fading
where silence maims sound and music topples over the moon
the stars the sleepless nights and the stellified dust of the world
that must be opened again
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
if kisses are green and bodies verdantly exact in sameness
let my hands be two birds glorifying the waters in the slopes
of fingers,
if song is but undeath and the rise and fall the unalphabeted siren
of the morning,
such loose wind swaying over her silently as loincloths
over blackred roses, easily it breaks like a finger of a shadow
whirling gently through opened windows in candid moonlight
but if surely does your going signal the dawn but no birds
wreathing the trees and no gardens inherit garlands,
what shall then be two birds over waters but a single stride
of sorrow and whose temporal flights disdain centrifugal faces
of waiting; measured, coveted, photographed, love everywhere fading
where silence maims sound and music topples over the moon
the stars the sleepless nights and the stellified dust of the world
that must be opened again
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