The willows crack, windfall wheat swaying cattails in the solar wind of my lively heat. Scrounge these pieces pock marking the oak floor. We may just have enough to eat tonight.

In my hand I hold all that I own, yet all that I own is that from my hands made. Soft, this light, glass frosted in empathy smooths spiteful dusk.

Take this wishful ape from my teeth and chew those cresting bows until they break. Feast of your own knowledge and naught but your own will can surface.

I have enough ice for the two of us. It melts into memories, traces raw in my mouth dissolving cleanly.

Let me draw you up a shape, so that I may see your fears and quell them with warmth. In mocking phrase you lend passion and we in acknowledgment grow.

We have more ideas than space allows and make extinct time laughably so. Our conceptions spill over and serve to saturate each following encounter. Even excitement is surprised.

Take my hand and run with me through woodland desires. Lets plant new willows and raise them to drape and make secret our delightful passions.

Drink up dear children, we have a long way to go. Tuck your hopes into these boots along with your pant legs; it will keep you warmer than the coziest fleece socks ever could.

Wear this wool with you until you hear the kettle cry. It will serve you well to stay within this wisdom.

These beaded braids breathe more than stories. I have enough wit within them for us all to share.

Take the time to tread in the springs before you leave. The sulfur does more than clear the sinuses.

Remember your name while you trek the ice and keep home in your heart as the salmon.

Your cynicism is hardly inspiring. Take yourself out of the situation and maybe you will see the suggestions.

Address these advertisements directly; they are simply for you after all. Interviews are not personal enough unless you are the one asking the questions.

My swirling nervous system senses this one coming and yet I can’t help taking the punch. Why do you continue to bite if you clearly see that even the scraps are gone?

A dog you are to lash like that. Your jaws in vain snap at my fleeting flesh for I have no substance to speak of anymore.

I have given my piece of mind so many times that even my wits are starting to wear. I fear myself now more than ever.

These daft hands fumble at your breathing. My gaze is heavy and it falls on you too frequently.

How often I trip up the stairs only to find myself plunging downward. Seize me sometime so I wont look the fool.

I know you for a canary and within these mines surely you do keep. For your sake I weep, since we simply seek salt. Yet, contained in this carapace is far more than mineral.

I think I could fold you into a walnut’s shell and still I’d love you so. This scent so sweet is small, similar to stature.

Roll out these roads into the sea. I find that often it is the cold we crave.

Orienting within the waves has always been my failing. Yet tossing is traveling to some extent.

Twice it has taken, but now a swimmer I may seem. I marvel at how content you are to dive into the reef.

Fascination is facade, procrastination plays behind these emerald curtains.

I could have sworn I’d pick you from the whole. With my blind eyelid palms I see only with bats at hand.

Those worn brass knobs shine luster in gleaming. Take from me these grapes for I have nothing to give you but insight.

I contain much more than this porcelain skin allows. There are cracks in this commentary and I secretly hoped you would notice.

See through the vain membranes and capture the tree as it bleeds waves of crimson and auburn. This craving lasts until my ears sleep.

These, my sisters and brothers, are but stitching in your scent. Drown in your cloth and channels before you approach me with assumption.

I’ve wrapped this caked breath in oval delight. I cannot clothe my kisses for I am lacking a mouth even to smile with.

Yet I hoped I could have chanced upon your sight. I caught something fluttering still in the midst; only drunk did it stay.

These pieces combat themselves within my consciousness until I forfeit my sight. Stay to aid in my recovery; only with, can without remain.

I have the tortured painting upon my forehead fixed. Your brush spits long, still fresh from these faces.

Steal the wishes from my lips and tax my thoughts. This flirtatious mind is ever transfixed at your grasp.

Sometimes I plead with myself just to taste the truth. There is relief in reflection.

Take this offering to the teeth and treat it as a toy. Sloth is a virtue after all.

My stake was contained within a single flutter of an insect wing and your silhouette led me astray. I trusted the temperature and truth be told; there was success in my sight.

Shadowed confessions beneath the swooning doves brow only bring me closer to the flat of the blade.

Scrape the rusted carapace of your belly. Those glass petals fall indefinitely despite your shattering spree.

The tense tumult breathes beads that I can’t bother to see. Spurn your breed; the pages are within reach.

The turquoise brands the skin so smoothly. Take it not harshly, your trenchant child still folds gladly.

Cut loose the slips lest you strain your pulse. ****** thoughts bleed corrosive tongue.

From their eyes your pages keep, this archive’s story untold lets no man weep.

Dash your art upon this stony logic and let bleed the colors. Gesso and treat the crevasses in this cliff mind and tighten your perspective.

Do not be afraid, these lines bend with your smile. Take it upon yourself to see what can’t be and make it so.

With bristled courage strike out against this ashen terrain and find your way home again. But stray not too long in the kettle warmth and poppy seeds, for even your willow locks long the sea again.

You throw salt in the eyes of those that seek you if only to season their sight. Hex and jinx in clandestine circles but do not forget that by a friends hand you learned these flairs.

Take to your faerie kind and seek the forest in yourself. Within the trees you are free.

Like Faberge, your surface delicate secrets keep. Your turn guards the only edges in a flash of auburn embers.

Frailty stay yourself; this is no time for tears. Uniform quality of essence pervades your spirit, inviting me to drink.

Your house turns not into itself, but outward at the coming waves, Cheshire in challenge.

Remain within those seams and coal your diamond be, but let the tailor trim and see all that we can be.

This feral jinx, having crested and crashed, lets not the berm erode. This knife is simply for cooking now.

Let the strums stroke nylon in tune, lulling this trenchant wit upon the step.

I’ll bake us both in bread and wrap this sullied soul in warm cotton thread.