I’m
winning softly, to spin a miracle, chasing through wildfires.
Oh
my love, kill us twice, to echo voice. I pass liquor, to grip
a
joint, and feel essence. We love faintly, and greyly, to paint
concrete.
I’m always, as teal as color, as blue as fire. Tears are
falling,
to call for names, as pure as a mudslide. I died—
somewhere
young, musing for a teacher. We perish, ever born,
trekking
through cornfields. I pick for lightning, to culture
thunder,
and cooking dinner. We lost it, to part a kiss,
screaming,
“You love me?” I need it, a purple gown, and skilled
eyes.
Are we there, to carve a photo, to stencil a portrait; and
what
for father, to beat for brains, screaming, “You love me?”
I
fall, to grab a boot, spinning a castle. We appear, to smoke
cigars,
scared to utter scars. The nights are gentle, and days for
cringe,
to fight for sober. I love you, to split an apple, reaching
for
sugar. We rain angst, ever to run, spearing a future. Life is
apricots,
and dried fruits, plucking a tulip. I hold a breath, to
tattoo
love, and braid a heart. It’s ever us, missing mass, found
in
the woods; so grip forever, dying love, begging a view.
