there is a floating garden that rests above my head
I try to reach it, but I am out of touch
my fingers must be broken
or maybe it is my heart

i danced with you in madness,
danced, because i wanted to,

i’ve had enough of sadness,
i took a breath, that was my cue,

you were standing there and talking,
talking to a guy in blue,

and i just started walking,
without knowing what i’m gonna do

you see i’ve seen in blindness,
but now the world is blind instead,

since when did clocks go timeless,
and why my cheeks are burning red

i know it’s you, the reason,
the reason why i think at night,

no, i couldn’t call it treason,
it’s you, for whom i’d always fight

we slow danced with the sparks,
kissed with eyes and met with soul,

but then you figured arcs,
and only told, a dance you stole,

with air you turned direction,
and like the rain you eased away,

now i weep at my reflection,
your dance was nothing but a play.

what a rose,
he, henry.

what a rose,
with cotton thorns.

cotton touch,
and lips of wine,
how i wish
he could be mine.

what a glance,
his eyes of pine,
let’s share a dance,
please, don’t be shy.

a twist, a turn,
and down the hill,
it heats, the burn,
it always will.

what a rose,
a rose that’s bending.

bending,
with my every touch,

it is time i stop pretending
no one could carry disaster such.

my caution tape series
cold wax & oils, an apogee of scars
yellow redactions cover the senses
four paintings so far
    
Warwoman's eyes
an irreverent man
the thinking pipe
and estrogen

my five senses
render resentment
and my method
masks the pain

searing pain
my body convinces
poppy seed bagels
to braid blood