For Connar:**

I linger long for you
in the desolate wasteland
that is
my speechless silence.

Lusting for replies
to my love
that demands
and scorns.

Why would the rose
of fields so fertile
dare to touch
this trodden ground
worn,
and weathered?

Who am I
to claim
your ****** toes?

By: Devon Artis-White (4/28/13)

I.
safe respite from a scary movie
i woke with bags under my eyes
heartbeats under dryer sheets

II.
you could carry me quite far
i loved for you to grasp my hands
they smelled of sweat and cinnamon

III.
first cigarette sixth kiss
you wrote me notes, i burnt them all
of you i do not speak

IV.
you whispered as i wore
your granite jacket; i have yet to tell you that
it's been my favorite color since

V.
you were damp new leaves
weathering fall's best storm
and i destroyed you just as completely

VI.
wet rain long fingers
i rest and watch you speak
i believe
you may be
the final sequence