The parched night-blooming cereus
aches for la lune’s silvery caress,
the same as I ache for the words
etched in secret codes on your tongue.

There’s a nightly symphony in your touch;
chamber music inspired by the hints
of heavy crimson within your lips;
velvet petals spreading before a rapture...

How I long to crush them to mine
with a sweet, savage brutality!
How I long to hear the angelic aria
of your moan.

i.

you were petals i once
submerged —a fistful i let
go of under a foggy sea
when i was succumbing
to myself

you were the surface tension
screaming my name;
a diaphragm’s lullaby —
old thunder in the rain…

i’ve been fond of storms
ever since


ii.

no one told me
how slow clouds would be —
i would have held my
breath a bit longer…

charted constellations
a bit better before
i spoke of love in light-years

and there you were
on a shoreline,
carrying salt in your palms


iii

how many times
will I walk here, —
a wreckage of bramble
in my side?

“the sea is much too old,”
i heard someone say…

and the wind was salt
on my brain

it left a hole;
a stain,
and i felt a burning
behind my soggy
ribcage

can stars erode
in the tide?


iv.

night adorns it’s veil —
scallops tug at the lace

and i toss inky petals
in the sea

nocturne’s dreamboat
a dead man’s float; —
how i’ve internalized
my hatred for romance

“the sea is much too old,”
i heard someone say…

and i realized my
lungs could speak
for days about sunken
ships returning home


v.

i ignore a
distant moon  — inertia
rocking my cradle

but she stays there
all the same…

there’s stardust
on her breath — whiskey
on mine

“you’ve grown much too old,”
i heard her say…

so i closed my eyes,
and felt sand between
my toes for the first time

it will be eons before
i swim here again

The violence of roses tangled
In redolent blooms throughout her hair.
“Forgive me,” Venus said to herself,
As she struggled with the piercing layers.

She parted her tangled strands
Like the turbulent sea had parted her shell,
Within this brume around curly waves
Of blood and blonde so frail.

Hallowed lantern of abhorred things,
whose presence on the horizon speaks of ire!
Illuminate the paths of this glorious pestilence,
and grant me a beauty that only twilight can bring!
I worship you with the tainted hymns of funeral pyres
as a loyal disciple seeking your guidance!

Fill me with murderous glee as I stalk my lesser kin,
whose lives are devoid of any remembrance!
In this nocturnal air, I’m as ravenous as fire,
so I’ll banish all of my mortal sin,
and savor your essence!

I loved how hollow the nights were after I crucified them to my walls.

I sing to them when I tap the glass,
my fingerprints smiling on the dust that reminds me of their empty shells.
How many times have I touched their caskets?

My shadowboxes of happiness.

In my longing to
drown out your memory,
I choked on the *****
of my dreams,
and woke up feeling
empty inside...

Spinning on a top of color;
The balloons are inflated in the desk,
and the rainbow streamers gave me a paper-cut.
I thought the red make-up was blood.

Running and jumping up and down
on a box of inflatable candy,
that turned my lips purple and blue.
My dad thought it was lipstick,

so he gave me an old ***** magazine.

When the animals morphed into balloons,
I petted them with grass stuck to my hand.
And POP! – goes the poodle,
in the parking lot next to the splattered juice cups.

My friend cried and wiped his eyes with icing
as a clown grinned, showing his orange teeth
that was the same color of the cheese-curls in the bowl,

that the three year-old just poured into the kiddy pool.

I got lost in the ball-pit.
I remember every color, then nothing;
Gray had became the fun
to a depressed clown wishing he’d got the hang

of life’s circus.

This silent sentinel haunted by time,
Unearthly screams and violent crimes!
Abandoned; decrypted, this barren womb.
In darkling corners, a petrified tomb,
Where unbidden echoes hammer at the walls
As the wraiths creep on their hollow foot-falls.

In this cracked bower of dusted morn,
Under crinkled leaves of cankered scorn,
Thine promise hath ruptured in purulent bliss;
Innards devoured with one poisoned kiss!
In death’s cruel grasp, spring bid adieu,
Such an ill-fate bestowed upon thee so soon!
Writhing in the pain from this soiled vow,
Revenge is waiting, won’t thy surrender now?

Lamenting tonight.
Lamenting the absence of moonlight
That still bathes my skin.

The inertia was pulling my blood.

The night goes on.
The clouds move in,
But I still see you everywhere.
Luminescent, ethereal light.
Still entranced, still in love.
I don't feel you anywhere!

I wander alone through the darkest of nights.
And I swear I still feel your pull. And I still feel...

Glide on dark tempest and frighten the skies,
Above blooded lands, lamenting past battle cries!
Valkyrjas of storm; born of thunder.
Warriors of gore; bodies torn asunder!

O’ Blooded maidens; princesses of death,
Descend on these fields with hurried breath!
Pillage strong souls of frenzied conquest.
Gather them now at Odin’s behest!

Herd legions of wraiths behind Valhalla’s cruel gate.
These sleepers of ire; of wars they lay in wait,
For Ragnarök shall roar, so revel in glee.
Delight in this violence, thy mote it be!

i was in a darkroom of fractured webs
hands on fire slipping off of chrome
and porcelain
warm pulp juiced raw
and heavy but all i
could see where photographs
developing under my sticky fingers

someone after
me
it was soon
too soon (she
‘s better than
you)

ground down my knuckles
peeled back
exposed blue-green hanging
down my palm
shards swallowing it
whole like salt
crystals
growing
on
a
st
ri
ng

i came out the other side
losing myself to the sink
the same
as i
lost myself
to you

For G. H.*

The secondhand smoke on your old hoodie
is tendrils of disembodied electricity
mercilessly carving through my diaphragm.
Somehow, I envision ivy climbing the side of an
abandoned house in unkempt droves of static veins…
My throat is cruel in the way that it seeks you,
like in the way squatters seek warmth behind boarded
doors that won’t easily open up.
If we ever kissed, I imagine them dwelling both of
our atriums and airways simultaneously,
and zero degree weather would use our breath
to leave crudely written IOU’s on the only
window still intact. I’d think an angry ghost would appear,
and remind us why we’re there in the first place.
Even then, I’d still like to believe
you’d give me a light all the same.

Scarlet lips done in roses. She kisses
the sun goodnight, leaving crimson
smears on the horizon.

She ties black orchids to her ebony
curls; copper-colored hands weaving
redolence into midnight gold.

The night holds her close. She caresses
the leaves and play in
shadows that move like smoke.

Her amber eyes catch moonlight like
glowing drops of honey. The tears from her
eyes always the sweetest.

Operatic tones held in drifting
petals; zephyr notes from her
soothing voice played by trees.

The sun lights a bonfire on the horizon;
she gently kisses the embers
and recedes like the tides.

Fire drains into blue light.
Orange seeds dot the sky. They look
on and see him kiss her in the morning.

Childlike glow
of thy radiant
skin, pale like
snow kissed
by sunlight.

Rufescent lips;
like flowing blood on
thy porcelain face.
The same of
your cheeks,
and
the ribbons of thy
veins…

Dost thou know ye
art not real?

because even
I couldn’t
reach through death
to love again

“Old houses mended,
cost little less before they're ended.”
       —Colley Cibber.

When all is said and done,

you’ll stand there like
ancient wood-rot
and I’ll let you fall in ruin.

“You are so easy to break.
Remember that.”

So can I wash you cold and brittle
with your broken hand until you fade?

Can I touch you?
Answer soon.

Can I keep the cracked pieces of paint
around my neck like
a broken rosary until you believe
in me again?

Can I hope?
Answer soon.

I’ve been ransacked, but you waited after
the fact to tell me…

Was it because my house wasn’t what
you thought it was?

“You robbed me of what I had left!”

Now there’s hate and
wrath in every wall
that houses your life now.

Every insecurity, everything
I know of you…

“I’ve locked you in.”*

So can I approach you?
Answer before I **** you.

I. Supernova.

Once, in a raining wasteland of sulfur,
You greeted me where there was sky
And mourned for me where the sun first set.

Your veins in my veins.
Your bones in my bones.
Everything we once were
Nebulous and burning.
Dying and changing.

In your abrupt departure,
Collapsing stars expanded outward
Like the bloated fingers behind my eyes
Trying to crawl out of the graveyard inside of me.

Astronauts have long since forgotten this sojourn satellite.
And you've stop weeping for me eons ago.

Your knees in my sides.
Your lungs on my spine.
Matted and congealed.
Bulky and deformed.

Heat cracks open the splintered ribcages.
Flames lick at your irregular heartbeat,
And a black hole takes form.
Your memory tears me out of orbit.
So I scatter you like ashes across the cosmos.

II. Eulogy.

Somewhere far away,
A moon's glow caresses a frozen planet,
Singing this barren womb to sleep.
Cold blood pulses beneath the dead,
And every silvery melody
Calmed the torments inside.

Suddenly, the melody stopped!
My bones contorted in pain when the secrets
Of a dark universe awoke suddenly and angrily
To the sound of your breathing!

You still live somewhere.
Somewhere inside.

And all the gravity,
And all the gravity of that life!
A fallen lover,
Like a fallen star dislodged from the hole
In your heart.

And I bury everything we were again,
Because you are everything dead inside of me.

I set adrift a funeral pyre
once. There was blood
on the waves for days after that,
and the sun seemed to cringe
whenever their reds
touched…
The stories were once beautiful,
like old letters bound together
by a scarlet ribbon.
Faded pink stationary, –
a redolent salt and Clair de Lune
mingling in the folds of a
paper cut…
The sea burned with fury
around them.
They were wayward bottles
filled with pearls,
and love notes so envied
by the her; they’d just never seem
to grow old with her.
She hated that, I suppose.
I would have too…
“You’re too far inland,”
some would say…
"Not even a lake for miles
to skip stones – not even a river
to lose a wedding ring too!"
I suppose the sea was my
only true love after that,
then I remembered that ghost
on the shoreline, –
salt falling freely from
his palms.

Held captive in hell by memories of thee,
And every deceit that has befallen me.
I’ll break these chains like damaged bone;
Fractured clean and broken free
Like a corpse flung from the throne,
Cast aside cold and alone.
With this blood from boiling vein,
Your pain I seek in echoed refrain.
I elicit the shadows in ravenous streams;
The unhinged ire of fallen dark dreams!
My abhorred soldiers shall win my new throne
Whilst I extract my new crown and twist swollen bone!
For every torment that has befallen me
Will be ****** upon thee, times three!
With nasty chains formed from the bone,
I’ll restrain haughty might no reparation can atone!
This chanted bane is most fitting for thee,
As your pain will fill me with sadistic glee!
So mote it be!

Floral limbs paint pictures in these woods,
Overlooking the garden where evening now hangs it's hood.
Dwelling among the stones where we used to sit,
Longing and loving, I shall not forget!
And I'll always remember where your impure heart may lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

We took this path once when it was green and blue.
We counted the flowers and beheld this picturesque view.
We also walked around my favorite tree, so tall and so old.
It still flourishes over the weeds, truth be told!
And I'll still remember where your impure heart my lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

The ivy hangs itself around these gates so artful.
A dove slipped a vine around it's neck ever so mournful.
And I wish I could have stopped it and made it wait for the sun
To shimmer about this garden tomb to make these curses come undone.
But I'll always remember where your impure heart may lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

He carried burden in his little bones
Since the day he first arrived.

His legs would spasm and fail him
In mid run; he always insisted
That he just didn't tie his shoes well.

His arms would always lock at the joints
As he slept; he always just told me
That he was tucked in too tight before bed.

His hands would go numb and he'd
Grip a glass cup too tight; shards splintered
His small palms, but he said it was fine,

And that he was so very sorry.

The smallest coffins are the heaviest,
And I could have swore I heard him
Say he was sorry as I carried

It out in the rain.

those days;
just like old television shows
on a retro box.
black and white, silent pictures
that make my head hurt.
whimsical musings tarnished;
a damaged Charlie Chaplin film—
a lifetime burning
on the **** projector
4 hours away in an Ohio Autumn.

these days;
a blue wool hat i wear in
90 degree weather,
always misplaced the first of
November,
and Hypothermia is the name
of my favorite child.
i dropped everything
to cradle it because
it’s insane how heavy an
August shadow can be,

and yes! i’m the red gloves
found under the bed
several months too late,
the drunken mess that got
thrown in the leaf pile
by the curb last year,
the 3am snowfall that everyone
******* about on facebook…

spring just isn’t the
same anymore,
and people still *******
about that too.

I.
We’re always waiting
for ghosts, even as
we hide from them.

We are stars
burning ourselves
out, wishing that
things turned
out a bit different.
.
II.
But now you’re so far
away;

like dawn from moon,
we sleep in different
lights, even as we
both live on the moon.

III.
We are mirrors at
midnight;

(Why are we so empty?)

I look into your eyes
and feel what
I’ve felt for eons.

IV.
Everything falls,
and I know you’re empty.
Let one more in before
you say “farewell.”

If all else fails,
and I’m still empty
I’d still fall in love,
even if it meant that you
might not be mine.

I.
My maiden voyage
on these waters, unbidden;
blood flows out to sea.

II.
Winds conquer my sails,
skin peels away in the waves,
my diaphragm floods.

III.
Marooned bag of bones
stripped by the sands of a tomb;
the ocean’s edge sleeps.

if storms appeared,
blowing down your foundations
with frenzied tempests…

if shadows stalked,
molesting every ill-fated dream
with unbidden darkness…

if hell arose,
choking the air from your lungs
with sulfur hands…

I just want you to know
that I
warranted it all.

then i don’t mind not remembering my
name, or what year it is,
or what new ******* styles are in…
i don’t mind mumbling, cross-eyed
with **** running down my leg
for the rest of my life…
i don’t mind a dilapidated hospice,

because it’s like you’re some angry
******* god who demanded more
than a ****** sacrifice.

so take this mass of jumbled ****,
make angels cry,
make the devil envious,
and make the specters of yourself get
ghost as i demand ice-picks through
the eyes that you lied and said
were beautiful,

because i don’t know what to
do any longer with the botched
******* you’ve left me here with.

An autopsy would reveal that I
swallowed too many stars,

and every incision would look
like hideously-done cursive.

The busing inside and out
would be treated like ink blots,

and my congealing blood would
scream about how cold the room is.

My liver would float up like a dead fish
covered in alcohol, and bad rants,

and my eyes would roll sideways,
and make the med students think
that they were following them
around the sterile-white of the room,

or they’d direct them where to put
the next piece of the leftovers as
they dissect me like the post-suicidal
frog that I am…

Like a frog? They’d probably bathe me
in formaldehyde…

That’s found in cigarettes, ya know?

I feel like cancer anyway, so
I gave them a shot or two, or three.
They’ll probably find those too in my
lungs; pickled, puffy, and black
with helium soot that made me fly
when everyone around me refused
to hold me up any longer.

according to King Nothing,
father’s day phone calls
are restricted…
i live in a world where
foot-rest make better supports,
and broken beer bottles fight
the most perverts away.
i’ve been homeless
three times, and "abortion"
was crudely drawn
on my forehead.
my love for
Frankenstein’s monster
knows no bounds.

the whole apartment
was gutted of its copper
two years after that.
the ‘first woman on Mars’
dream he had was sold for scrap;
threw out half of my books,
called me the reject.
a childhood tomb, raided…
the Queen was pleased.
she doesn’t believe in aliens,
and most stars are dead
according to light-years anyway.

With my cold hands,
I wash the sepulcher,
As the flaxen widow
Crudely set aside her
Floral wares.

In all black, she saunters
Along. There’s a tiny bell
That snickers in her petticoats,
As well as a pocket watch,
Unfamiliar with the folds
Of a silk handkerchief.

The stones were oddly
Quiet that day, but I do recall
An uneasy sermon…
The Earth wailed to me
In the rain, and I became
Inebriated by petrichor, and a
Light sneeze…

Her bony hands fingered
The bell in her petticoats,
And the pocket watch fell
To her feet.
In silence, she knelt
To retrieve her late husband’s
True love; how he loathed
To waste his waking hours!

"It gives me wonder great as my content
To see you here before me."*
—William Shakespeare — Othello, act II, scene I.

She, veiled in night-breezes of darkled hue;
This cream Inamorata as you've called her.
She wishes to calm the seas; your eyes a turbulent blue.
The remnants of a broken heart she hopes to stir,
With the enchanting embrace of her halo-like arms.
Like you, this angel sought heaven all along.
Enthralled by her and all of her innocent charms,
You now cling to her and chant every love-song!
If World be willing — if malignant stars never shined,
Then she would fly to you without any fear,
And she'd cradle your heart; a widower's heart that pined
For this dusky form that you now hold in your thoughts so dear.
But tonight she waits for you in after-curfew dreams.
So luminous is her light, though the darkness it gleams!

Urban Nights, 2009.*

I’ve walked this city and saw such life,
But I regret to say that I didn’t see yours.
Hand in hand, a husband and wife,
Whose open arms swing like those open doors,
In this city where music spoke,
And where stone broke
Under my heels!
Where lights blinked,
And where jewelry clinked.
Such vibrant thrills!
Where the crowds gathered,
And where the cold beer splattered.
A kinetic spill!

And I walked this city.
Saw some birds, who dined on breadcrumbs of pity,
As my lips half-pressed against the glass.
A fog around my mouth and a fog around my heart,
As I saw some kids sitting in a small patch of grass,
Where the city cared enough to remember the flowers blooming
Under these steel and concrete buildings in the dusk, still looming.

And I’ve gathered the sights and sounds of the city at night,
But I don’t have a photograph of you in this dim light,
Where the stars twinkled under handmade pieces of art,
And where the couples from earlier gather
Not yet wishing to depart.

And now I’m sitting in a booth
Feeling alone, although I’m not in this ongoing affair,
With my quick glances back and forth to see that you’re never there.
And while I’m nibbling on my nails and hard bread,
A single thought stays there in my head;
If you’d only knew
This city is dead without you.

but I’m just buckshot
caught in a sonnet,
and there’s just too many
shotgun shells
in my diction.

There’s gangrene
in my carrion verses;
each word, a gaping
wound of its own
shrapnel design,
****-filled and leaking

through wrinkled
notebook paper.



A putrid smell instead of
cheap perfume lingers
on sealed envelopes, —
dried blood
in lieu of a wax seal...

waiting to be opened,
and pressed to a numb chest,

where the infection
can spread again,
and again.

a candle’s small flame;
a quiet star, flickering,
dimming in my sky.

many light-years were wasted.
wax melted; beacons in-vain.

Lilies wilted
On** the windowsill
Vase cracked from age
Every memory still anew

You weren’t willing enough,
so the job got botched.

Blood pooled at my toes,
and skin hung from my insides.
I felt like an abortion…
I still do.

The smeared fingerprints
you’ve left all over me
were shaky at best.
I looked at them in the mirror
for days.

I wanted to call you and say I’m alive,
but I would be lying…

This time, hindsight is skin-deep
and somehow, I think you knew
what you were doing all along.

O’ Maiden of jeweled Elysium,
kissed by golden moon;
Iridescent skin swathed
in radiant, silken plume.
Come silently through
the darkling visage of shadowed dune,
And bless my turbulent slumber
with your ancient tune.
Linger here in redolence
with the nocturnal uraeus
Wandering through your hair,
amidst night-blooming cereus.

i wanna be a ******* superstar
on the late night news.
i want front page all to myself;
an old-fashioned penny-dreadful
surrounded by fairytales,
and auto-accidents!
i wanna pop up on that *******’s
newsfeed.

beauty is pain, not old-age like
the morgue extras. so lacerate my
ugly face, force lead wishes
into my skin like botox for prey,
and draw up my modeling contract
where i fall…

i wanna be the femme-fatale
that no-one wanted to save…
the star he couldn’t bare
to finish… the star he
meant to make me in to.

where the sun ceases to expose
all of the cracks of our shells

and just before the night
slowly engulfs the embers
we have left.

meet me
here…

When his familiars’ pounced
a little too roughly on the davenport,
the mysteries of the cosmos
flailed about as his soft,
satin bag took a tumble…
Citrine and agate tap-danced
under the bed, as quartz
whizzed wildly through the air
like a shooting star. Opal spun about
like a fiery pirouette, and amethyst –
finding it’s way on the windowsill,
bloomed a kaleidoscope of larkspur
in the sun.

we learn of
celestial bodies in
science,

and i touch
what is
considered

forbidden
knowledge about
the stars;

the longing of
the supernova
to cover as

much of
the blackness
as it can in

a moment
of explosive
intensity. write

me a song on
the blackboard
in health class

comparing your
nature to the
onslaught of

solar winds,
atmospheric
pressure on my

lungs, and
the force of
gravity you

inflict
upon the
bearer of flowers.

tug and pull
celestial seeds
floating in

its own beaker.
attack me.
force me to

answer and
make me
want more.

ignore my
protest and eat
up the blank

space with
smeared
fingerprints and

crude words
about my lust in
the dark

and how
the night sky
swallowed me

whole.

on silver she flies
this delicate
mother-of-pearls

moon adrift
during the daylight

she's luminous
like snow atop
auburn branches

or like pale petals
from the sky

an ethereal
daydream

fluttering
on a
warm breeze

Butterflies dissolve like honey-colored lacquer
as I wander the insides of this bright amber moon.

I look for Mother behind a shaded glow-tree.
It is there that I find her folding clouds while bluebirds
dance in the hollow of her heart…

She’s redolent like star-oil from a night-blooming cereus,
With hair never-ending like shadows
sealed from the palest of light.
Her eyes are like tanzanite orbs set ablaze.
She wears robes made of koi scales, and silk from the sea.

As I gathered pearls for her from the mouth of lapis lazuli
shores, my feet touch the chilled sands as shells scurried
from my foot-falls.

As I fetched gossamer from a crystal spider
hiding in a nearby constellation, gold web danced through
my cramoisy hair.

With all of these things, I sat beneath a niveous dune,
out of sight from Mother as I made her a necklace that
resembled the remnants of a galaxy that she once lost.

When I presented my gift, she smiled, then gently
whispered:
"The bright galaxy standing before me is more than enough."

In the nights that follow a
thousand waning faces,
I still can’t help but to find
my gaze locked on her
shining smile.

And even when the clouds
conspire to hide her away
from me, I can still feel
her silvery gaze
and her unfaltering
brilliance!

“I broke the fangs of the wicked and
snatched the victims from their teeth.”*
— Job 29:17

O’ vampiric devils cast out into the night;
abhorred by the sun, and shunned by the cross!
Forcefully banished by the Lord’s great might,
O’ vampiric devils cast out into the night!
Your ravenous nature; the forefront of our plight,
so hang your heads low, and mourn grace’s loss.
O’ vampiric devils cast out into the night;
abhorred by the sun, and shunned by the cross!

You grounded me in silent melody
like a rusted harp from yesteryear.

You gave me prideful ambition when
my other endeavors failed to bear fruit.

You made me feel alive when self-infliction
was only desecration to the living dead,

and showed me beauty in both anger
and sentiment when mixed; botched,
yet perfect in its own twisted way.

You still spilled from the ink of my
shadow even when the alcohol wasn't enough.

You still came to my mind when the
wraiths of my memories tormented
my waking hours.

You gave me clarity when the pills refused
to dissolve in my wreckage,

and when all else abandons me for the last time,
whatever you have to say in that moment
will feel like my first time.

Apparently she was a mermaid;
there wedding was
to be a plastic Malibu affair.
Her dress, a bedazzled, gaudy
sarong with leis for a train, and coral
bits for the rings…

She said she was addicted to pearls, –
ate them like candy,
until about a year ago when they plucked
her from the ocean,
and gave her pills instead.

“Entertain her for a bit,” the other nurse said.
So I picked up the Ken doll,
and let Barbie buy another pet dolphin.

As seen through amber in the colors of Venus and Saturn;
Sun opens upon her face as gold spills in spun blonde,
And the rose’s thorn brings about liquid rubies
That drips on the youngest lily of the valley.
Butterflies aligned with the unseen Mars on the horizon
Scatter as their wings seem to burn away in the
Brilliant firelight, touching the water that reveals
Sapphires in liquid form; an affinity for Neptune that
Dangles on her fluttering eyelashes alive with what she sees!

More rubies fall in the emerald vast as her fingers move
Across the vine, and the crystals tear through the dahlias
Like the storms of Jupiter this canopy veils!
They rest among the pink rhinestones that resemble
Cherry blossoms in perfect discord when the last one
Is drained of its color under a wooden bridge at
The foot of the forest; an old bridge covered in patchy moss,
Showing its long years of absent footsteps.
They are only distant memories to the *****,
Who emerges from the brush and drinks
From the stream in constant relief.

I watch her majesty fading her vibrant colors at sunset when
Uranus drifts. The colors fall into onyx when the sap of
The trees resemble amethyst in the moonlight.
And Mercury holding more silver falls in the stream with her
And all of her plume that we cherish as much as
Her earthly leaves, for we use both as covers for sleep.
Daydreams entwine with nightmares and become as cold
As Pluto. Ice lingers as tanzanite tears in those bright eyes;
Diamond eyes that cut through the towering clouds to discover
Stars that are made of everything here!

You are an aura; iridescent,
aglow with elemental purity.
Aether is your kingdom;
it’s subjects are the mists!

You are the day; bright,
possessive in your surroundings!
The prism is your charm;
it’s colors a decorative chain.

You are the night; mystifying,
obscure tempest of shadow.
The moon is your crystal ball;
you scry using the stars!

You are the seasons; ever-changing,
abundant, frail, and demanding.
The spring is your gift;
the winter is our atonement.

she
swallowed all
the lilies in my
garden. then
descended
upon my
rosebushes
and delighted
in the fact
that they
resembled
her.