the garden...

like the frigid brushes
of winter’s demise upon
the barren trees so, too,
my longing for what was wanes

between my legs
the heat of summer rushes
in crimson torrents of love’s
faded memories

my fertile heart now ploughed
waiting the kiss of spring
and the blooming of love anew

with

you

.

.

.

ghost towns...

in days that long since lost their prime
layer on layer of deceitful grime
left their hearts tarnished by better times

all hung out to bleach in the desert winds 

ripped and torn unable to mend

rusty nails shred memories to the end

lives now just barren ghost towns

where light and love once abound

ain't nothin' left to be found

on this infertile wretched ground

can't even the gods revive

neither'a them wasted lives

.

.

.

i sat...

that day
you know the day
the day
the day that was

as words
my words
struggled
like so many
secretive sperm
spilling out
somehow escaping
the darkest of the dark
caverns of my heart
as they spewed themselves
up and out
into the stratosphere
of love’s sanctity

of us

as they

devoured the light
demolished your world
destroyed your trust

your love for me

i sat
as someone else
somewhere else
and listened
and watched

and
silently
screamed

.

.

.