Your name is scrawled in the sun this morning, & the lilies are bursting from their green fists - new shadows croon from bedsheet tents, & tiny kites of frost play telephone lines under teacup cumulus: the world is your empire, even the white lawn flaming with winter under the death's head evergreen is yours now. My suitcase eyes will make delivery before coffee is served.
The very moment I first gazed upon your splendour Your fiery eyes gave away the woeful reflection of my soul. And amidst this endless pyre Danced a song of yearning And desire. Relentless. Rebellious. Irrepressible. As if alight to chase away my faithless doubts Your fiery eyes called to me And I followed them home.
In the cold, dark of January, I remembered you the most. As the chill snapped bones like branches, as the afternoons bathed themselves in gray, as the birds and the backs shook, so did my lips around your name. I'm so happy January is almost over now.