A car comes rushing
Bullets pay no attention
To me, flesh and bone.

you are paper,
let yourself be crumpled,
and then tell me stories
about your creases, your scars;
memories living in jars

tell me how it hurt
to be molded impetuously
because you still feel pain
when your wrinkles look like veins,
fragile streaks of vulnerability
flowing within you,
all over you,
and i will tell you
that i could not care less
if you are a mess of crooked roads;
if you are no longer like the others
devoid of folds
because these folds define you,
and the others do not crumple
in the same way as you do

you are paper,
skinned from nature
let yourself be written,
and then tell me stories
about yourself, your tales
without ever having to use a pen

where the river runs
is a ghost
blue as the sky

i want the beauty
of my mind
to run through
my pen

i want the sky
to cast its shadows
of the shadowy clouds
to where
darkness flows
and the moon,
the arching moon,
grows cold,

love could not be
more beautiful
when i am,
flower of the wind
sea of dark sky
ghost of a river
that runs.

i.

sunlight,
blue jewel
of the sky,
dancing ring,

solitary keeper,

melting rose,
cool in its summer
bloom.

ii.

how pretty the
crystal green
leaves, the
knotted wood
angular, waving.

iii.

summer stole our
hearts, the sea my
love, in its ebony
waves, blue straws
and indigo light.

iv.

sea, rose of green
summer, blue of
languid lake, dance
of soul, desert ache.

v.

you conjure a spell
of your heart
wanting me
to want you.

i want you,
i say it
again and
again.