The wind will howl
at our agonizing fall,
The tides will lash at
their confinements;
and suddenly, inevitably
*we will be torn apart

Mark the walls.
Mark the trees.
Mark the forest
floors and leaves.
Mark the mountains
and seas. Whisper
to the stars. Whisper
to the shy morning
skies. Tell the people.
Tell them about our
love. Tell them the
story about you
and me and all
the things we
want to be* ~

Your experience justifies your disbelief in miracles;
Your existence justifies my belief in them.

.
She was a,
Slow dying flower,
In the frost killing hour,
The moon we'd devour,
                                      The sweet turning sour….


She’d wilt when he came,
                                      The shadows weren’t the same,
                                       And who’d be the blame
  Of the frost killing hour.

What are these,
cold pebbles of
an infected love?
                                         The slow dying flower,
                                                in the frost killing hour,
                                                        th­e sweet turning sour,

& untouchable.
.