My bed, that house within a house,
Built of timber from your inner copse, now
Splinters in the dawn, and I muse douse
The kisses destined for your brow,
Lest the dreamer destroy the dream
And repose fall from its narrow beam.
The fallen flaming leaf
Waits for the snow in vain,
Hopes to cool the burning wreath
That leaves its heart in pain
Before the winds of decay
Silence passion’s ecstasy.
Nothing is ever lost;
The rain that fell today
Becomes tomorrow’s frost,
And huddled in the grey
Shroud of a cloudy sky
Every droplet refuses to die.
Beneath an uncertain sky I stand,
Facing the direction from which
New seasons weave together strands
Of memories formed from the twitch
Of muscles: hearts that yearned and failed,
Listless lips that fell in love and ran aground.
Be still my dear.
Stop running away from me.
I merely wish to return the flower
That you dropped last fall.
Love eternal cannot be had;
All things grasped will be unclasped
Like hands that lose their early might.
Snow piled on the ground whilst I slept,
Pure white specks of water cascading
From the darkest corners of the sky,
And unbeknownst to me my heart kept
With the blind hunger of a reptilian tongue,
Snatching at air and not knowing why.