The view through the pink window
Blushes pink to satisfy
Employs soft focus the eye cares for
The pink forest aglow
Finds success, the sun shafting through
A vibrant shocking pink porthole
Shoots sharply to the forest floor
On closer inspection it is solid in form
Seemingly impenetrable
I put on my pink lenses
Pressing the pink circle that appears
It is nothing to the touch
Even so, it exists - pure pink
A fascination enclosing
I feel pink warmth

They float these pink balloons
Strings hanging down, they
Sway back and forth like
Leaves in the wind.

Weighted down never to reach
Beyond their moment, never to
Fly free, these pink balloons,
Swaying in the wind.

Scuffing  across the floor, neither
gravity keeps them grounded, or
These pink balloons never to
Let this hanging moment soar.

I have many pretty balloons, my
Favorate is pink, pink is the colour
Of flesh, a beautiful tone. One
I like to cut and bleed, as they hang
There slowly strangled floating on air.

What will take them, floating along
Scuffing feet plead for the ground,
But I like to pierce the flesh, like a
Balloon life does deflate slowly
Then gone as if never there.

I have many balloons suspended, some
Stagnant still, while others twitch.
Floating just above life, gliding
Closer to death as they hang upon
String neither here or there.

threads of salt
drowned land
and sea
brisk on the shore
to the vine
of the tree
not fruit
not sweet
but
check beauty
check redolent
check dog named after
and sea urchin-robbed

the steps taken
through the pink
the sunken ships
the little women
with big hair
the jewelry that
weighed them down
to drown
drown
drown

the flower
floats like
a headstone
from the hand of
a daughter
to the mouth of
the sea
where God still
reigns
with a crooked shaft
and a helmet
long struck
by the sky

pink

the ocean loses its way
through the flowers
thorns and
all

a pink jacket that
came from pink cheeks
the day you had the pink above your eyes
i became infatuated with the color

i see pink in the darkest of things
i see it in my dreams
and when i close my eyes it's no longer darkness
but a pink warmth
it makes me calm and tranquil

i used to take pink pills
to give me the same feeling

now i just want to see
the pink of your cheeks
and
the pink in your heart
and
the pink in your soul

Pink was your eyes
and the way I was willingly lost in them
Pink was the way your hands held me
before they tossed me aside
Pink was our tears
melting into laughter
as the ice around us did the same

Now, pink is the unwanted freedom
that I desperately need
Pink is a blemish on my memory
which my simple forgetfulness cannot erase

The old pink held your promises,
the new pink washed them away,
watched them break

Pink was never enough.

Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell, 
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair 
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears, 
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing 
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then 
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely 
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still, 
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved 
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent 
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle 
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on 
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing 
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves 
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath, 
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings 
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.