The way Easter grass felt on bare feet
like sadness in its melancholy dampness,
so sweet.
Reminds me of the tears that refused to leave your eyes.
Spring, in my mind, much taken a backstreet.
The girls that came only with the sun,
gone with the songbirds, with the nothing and none.
Flowers of pale and humble, simple hues.
You, standing still against a backwards sky. Searching for blues on blues on blues.
That tree I’d climb until I could not find need to pluck a pear and fall to the ground
bones all split and worthless, blood gone brown.
By a certain height you start to feel so small,
wondering if to break would matter at all.
As long as May swept between our lips,
to your scream, whispering lies.
I fall in love with an empty man,
Watch him through the years,
the fall and the rise.
Now, in your eyes, stolen land;
even the cornflowers have died.

The aching burn in the stretch of my lung
pulsing Panama ***.
However furious you loved me much
youth is still a blinding hand; gilded blush.
Bring you closer, in my head-
“Older than your age” he said, he said.
As true as I see growth so near
man of ***** and beard and broken sky
still nibbles, longingly, my ear.
Every tooth I smile, weak and kind,
begs me not to die another time.
Frees me from a waking mind,
breathing fantasies of cheeks, flush like wine
and to have you between the sweat of thigh
part my lips, grace my hips, part the red sea; dry.
By tomorrow I'll be prim as the birch moon we loved by
don't remind me darling, darling mine.

There she lay
figure just beyond the rising turquoise spray
spooning sugar right out the jar.
******* her fingers like a babe, woe be to her, far.
Much akin to the salt in the pools by her bay
only so better loved upon the tongue.
So loved better, so tender and young.
There she was - pale feet to sand
in an even fainter dress, lace to be flung.
Sugar, between the creases of my hand,
press her closer
flavor, the monotony of man.
Curls, red, like hills of strawberry blush
lips wide to such wolfish song.
Sweet fingers, mine to touch,
from still night to golden dawn.
And constellations, in her eyes, between her bones,
upon her nose,
sprinkling her thighs.
Anew with confiture was I, filled with her breath
to lose her would be cruelty, to lose her would be death.
Why - do I love her more than what I know to be?
I'm sorry I could only write of heaven,
and not of what she sees.

I know I can forgive you
as that iris laps in the view,
of a knife up to my throat.
Your eyes, in sweet loathing; afloat.
The red truth on rings,
frantic in my ears
soft as butterfly wings.
Soft as butterfly wings.

Your voice, so near me, an ocean away
crashing and foaming
cursing my life, begging I stay.

Curled, unsure fingers
beneath the dark of my hair,
shadowed and lingers.
The day so forgotten, the moment so there,
forgiven, unfair.
Felt like an animal, fighting be tame,
and your hand - domestication, clutching my veins.

Thought of the clementines you so cherished much
as juice dripped down your boyish arm,
on and on, until crimson pulp, to touch.

Pulls at twin cords,
cold, practiced fear and warmer words.
Same pulse along the jaw.
Familiar flush of jade stroked wings.
The end, hopeless and raw
and the feeling your name, on brings.

Through all spite and longing,
days of sun forever dawning
I get fluttering creatures
still as a hand so seizures.
Deep in place unknown
between belly and throat.
Under gruffest tone
and nights alone.
They will never wish a wing to know
the hurt of hidden bones.
How it come, ever slow.

Your taste, your say, your meaner things,
soft as butterfly wings.
Soft as butterfly wings.

The angst of pain
is so foolish gone
when blade of gruesome lust and flushing hate,
is in your hands.
So, at my heart, it stays.

I think I must have loved you
beneath the holly bush
Where red fire grew
and silver voices hushed.
I think I learned and knew and pined
a different form of word,
one which I was free to call you mine.
A whisper, still, you so heard.

Ever on, the things of sleep and fur all stirred.
For winter's numbing breath
was far past faith's deceit
of mere comfort, ease, and depth.
Beyond linen sheets and rosy cheeks
and you at peace with I.
So I sit through season's wistful sorrow
frost and birth's sweet lies.
To see the day bleakness says its last goodbye,
and you awake me a 'morrow.

Mouth to plum, bruised blue and black
it's always guilt, the wild eyes lack.
It's always pansies, blooming down my back
If you could ever think to love me - attack.
Feel my fingers, feel my nerves
boy,
relish my blindness, dampen my words.
Eat me alive,
I've forgotten what it is to die.
Forgotten how to bring my ****** lips to wine
and let you shove away the tears - I'm dry.
The beauty of petals, what do they serve,
to only dry and fall dead from a flower,
when the sun is not hers?