sculptures made of brass sleep in the shade. (sun and voices are ultraviolet)
look at you.
oh my children, if you could only look at your own faces you would see my own as I've wanted you to.
Oh how i've been reproduced in your own cells, living in your own skin, in that lingering aura after you've made love to your wife of thirty years or more. In the death rattles where you finally drop your cigarette and still manage to whisper 'its all for me'. I was in your skin before you needed the pulpy taste of the apple to know what nudity was. I told you what it looked like to slope naturally, to decline as gracefully as the moon between outstretched branches. Oh, eyes made of the leaves and just as temperate to their rise and fall, their mood swings of darkest grey and winter ice.
You've been wearing my eyes since you've been born, little did you know we've witnessed the same rustic birthdays where we both pretend we're cowboys fighting some unassailable force, eating grass, learning about ourselves for once.
oh my children, if you could only look at your own faces you would see my own as I've wanted you to.
Oh how i've been reproduced in your own cells, living in your own skin, in that lingering aura after you've made love to your wife of thirty years or more. In the death rattles where you finally drop your cigarette and still manage to whisper 'its all for me'. I was in your skin before you needed the pulpy taste of the apple to know what nudity was. I told you what it looked like to slope naturally, to decline as gracefully as the moon between outstretched branches. Oh, eyes made of the leaves and just as temperate to their rise and fall, their mood swings of darkest grey and winter ice.
You've been wearing my eyes since you've been born, little did you know we've witnessed the same rustic birthdays where we both pretend we're cowboys fighting some unassailable force, eating grass, learning about ourselves for once.