we live in shadow-
lands, our minds
moss avenues,
cradled like a child,

i wonder where the air
draws her breath,
hair wind-blown with gazing
at a far-flowing sea,

eyes duskier than a rose
in the unsettled night,

whisper me your dreams
that i may find you again
boy of love,

whisper me something sweet
for the hate in this
world tears me apart,

the quiet night
scatters the seeds
of the dark,

scatters us to this
north wind
that plays in the
dry-grass ruins
of my heart,

dream of a white
rose, lying near
me on this
windy path,
that leads to the
sea, damp
with wet sand,

i thought i'd
see you, but
all i saw were
the shadow-
lands.

there’s something uplifting about looking up at my window.
no matter the time of day, as long as the slats are open,
if you look up and out, you will see the tops of trees and open sky.

in the early evening, it reminds me of you.
the blue is fading to a duskier shade, like that of your eyes,
and the leaves of the trees shine a yellow-brown as the sun hits them;
they sway in the breeze, just as your hair does.
the light is warm and gentle and brushes against the white of the open panels
and glances off the wall to the right, painting my room in aureate hues.
I remember having all the time in the world to watch you during these hours,
having all the time in the world as you slept or fiddled around in my bed.
sometimes we would lay entwined and my fingers would brush over your stubble
as your hands grazed through my hair and up and down my side.
your lips would brush against my skin as the leaves brushed against each other outside.
no noise, no chaos. just our breathing and the dimming light the sun provided.

the early evening is the calm before the night and the madness it brings.
gold and glory and grandness and grace,
a warm haze of gradual darkness descends as the haven melts away like the hours we spent.
the sun lights up the sky in vivid pinks and oranges,
leaving bruised purples and navys in its wake.
you left as it set. your mood reflected the bruises the sun left in its abrupt departure
and I longed to paint you in pinks and oranges and the blazing, brilliant red it became
before it disappeared beneath the horizon, just as you did when the car door shut behind you.

The admiration lark is falling, the unasked skirt is crawling,
The writhes are swelling, the self-haunting is knelling
The unapparent showers are thrown, and the interventions each stiffened
Let your duskier perils play:
And make her polluted insufferable with tear on tear.