(no subject)
your love is made of birds flying into windows and feet tangled in weeds with heels slipping on algae at the bottom of a murky green pond. grip, toes, grip. calm and steady until you see that angel painted on the plated glass. you, unseen danger, are a siren's song digested by ears that hold between them the most easily swayed minds. all these black shapes with their green soles, they come in droves, cawing, squawking, ruining my time spent on telephone wires, and you are puddles trailing into my garden. do you wish for me to look for you on blades of grass? i will not. i know where you lead and have no desire to follow. if you are the summer, i will be the winter with no explanation. you are tied to a kite string, and i feel no attraction.