Shade in the Dark:
I care for you in secret
under a forest that covers the world
Your heart shining like hands over flashlights,
as I dip my sleeves into darkened water
letting it rise up...
Your pants hang past your feet-
walking off the excess,
grazing imprinted names on your soles
that never washed clean
...We have the same hands,
'The dreamers of dreams'
of possibility-
Withdrawing into pockets...
shedding in these clothes.
In overcast of seems,
you are the black in my gray-
or maybe a few shades darker.
I tell him little stories
close but not touching-
The distance of ourselves
swimming through the stones...
You wave my hands and squinting eyes from out of the moons' way,
your nose wrinkling at my attempt to capture it-
As the night spills out for you
between spaces of hello and goodbye.
I trace my fingers across your palms
sadly writing letters that you would never read,
That I am an artist-
That I am a cannibal-
That there is a last time, for everything.
My glance lost in the trees- you asked,
"How can you be so sad when you are so beautiful?"
A frown formed in my brow-
foreshadowing, this was the very reason-
we may never... feel this way again.
Your irises widened to my creaking eyes
slowly pulling you out through your lips
lowering you into the depths of my hair
Oh, he moved so slowly, I couldnt even feel him moving...
You did not struggle
as I lulled you softly-
into arms,
of smooth mistake.
A windy flailing dress
leaning forward from famine-
consuming my possession,
my neck longways and longing
my eyes had wrung the clouds dry,
and angrily tossed them about the wind.
Attempting to heave you back into my clutching hands
arching over rags that flapped like black butterflies-
coarsely dispelling a dense black seed,
I buried you- below my growling vacant belly,
My eyelashes painting epilogues
Because even when a widow dreams-
...she dreams, she is a widow.
Imprisoning themselves in black fences,
my eyelids lowered, shading my cheeks
Beneath my pallid legs
a seed murmured...
'Surely darkness is not such a bad place to grow'
Athirst and in awe- I did not stir-
Shining yet brittle eyes ascended
upon your figure sprouted up and curved
Sliding your coveted fingers between my teeth,
fervently devouring the fruits of your words...
Happily closing my eyes to the sun,
A red-stained smile in your shade.
under a forest that covers the world
Your heart shining like hands over flashlights,
as I dip my sleeves into darkened water
letting it rise up...
Your pants hang past your feet-
walking off the excess,
grazing imprinted names on your soles
that never washed clean
...We have the same hands,
'The dreamers of dreams'
of possibility-
Withdrawing into pockets...
shedding in these clothes.
In overcast of seems,
you are the black in my gray-
or maybe a few shades darker.
I tell him little stories
close but not touching-
The distance of ourselves
swimming through the stones...
You wave my hands and squinting eyes from out of the moons' way,
your nose wrinkling at my attempt to capture it-
As the night spills out for you
between spaces of hello and goodbye.
I trace my fingers across your palms
sadly writing letters that you would never read,
That I am an artist-
That I am a cannibal-
That there is a last time, for everything.
My glance lost in the trees- you asked,
"How can you be so sad when you are so beautiful?"
A frown formed in my brow-
foreshadowing, this was the very reason-
we may never... feel this way again.
Your irises widened to my creaking eyes
slowly pulling you out through your lips
lowering you into the depths of my hair
Oh, he moved so slowly, I couldnt even feel him moving...
You did not struggle
as I lulled you softly-
into arms,
of smooth mistake.
A windy flailing dress
leaning forward from famine-
consuming my possession,
my neck longways and longing
my eyes had wrung the clouds dry,
and angrily tossed them about the wind.
Attempting to heave you back into my clutching hands
arching over rags that flapped like black butterflies-
coarsely dispelling a dense black seed,
I buried you- below my growling vacant belly,
My eyelashes painting epilogues
Because even when a widow dreams-
...she dreams, she is a widow.
Imprisoning themselves in black fences,
my eyelids lowered, shading my cheeks
Beneath my pallid legs
a seed murmured...
'Surely darkness is not such a bad place to grow'
Athirst and in awe- I did not stir-
Shining yet brittle eyes ascended
upon your figure sprouted up and curved
Sliding your coveted fingers between my teeth,
fervently devouring the fruits of your words...
Happily closing my eyes to the sun,
A red-stained smile in your shade.