|Everything me, downside out, upward in.|
These hushed Christmas carols set dusty and defiant, playing me the happier smiles of the love we almost shared.
The gaunt black raven of time, prematurely swooping in, methodically ticking off these exquisite frames of indelible promises.
Incomplete stories forged from the shards of half truths, tail stamped quickly and jettisoned from the precision of a metronome's click.
Their vacant cotton whispers leaving me indelicate, offering me these tidings of freshly cast pain.
Pain, the only gift left to open this year, under the tree of this newly broken life.
My lips crack against the ashen white smack of the harsh December wind
it's another year without you here to care.
We stay awake for love and we grow soft in our need
Our bodies trending gently toward the razor's edge of time
Who knows how many pillows hold the heavy tears of longing
the sheets can wrap us better with the gentle warmth of hope
Parading out words at an abnormal gate
Sore and bloodied by the loss of love.
...for one day soon I'll taste your mouth, and I'll finally understand the ripeness of life.
She signals the men among her garden, harmonically.
They hide in the thicket to plant their seeds in her valley.
She comes for them, hushed.
Bared down on rock and fresh soil.
Her body well hidden by the harvesting moon.
A small glimpse of pleasure growing her seasons alone.
Enough to sustain her through another harsh winter.