Lamenting tonight.
Lamenting the absence of moonlight
That still bathes my skin.

The inertia was pulling my blood.

The night goes on.
The clouds move in,
But I still see you everywhere.
Luminescent, ethereal light.
Still entranced, still in love.
I don't feel you anywhere!

I wander alone through the darkest of nights.
And I swear I still feel your pull. And I still feel...

Floral limbs paint pictures in these woods,
Overlooking the garden where evening now hangs it's hood.
Dwelling among the stones where we used to sit,
Longing and loving, I shall not forget!
And I'll always remember where your impure heart may lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

We took this path once when it was green and blue.
We counted the flowers and beheld this picturesque view.
We also walked around my favorite tree, so tall and so old.
It still flourishes over the weeds, truth be told!
And I'll still remember where your impure heart my lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

The ivy hangs itself around these gates so artful.
A dove slipped a vine around it's neck ever so mournful.
And I wish I could have stopped it and made it wait for the sun
To shimmer about this garden tomb to make these curses come undone.
But I'll always remember where your impure heart may lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

she
swallowed all
the lilies in my
garden. then
descended
upon my
rosebushes
and delighted
in the fact
that they
resembled
her.

we learn of
celestial bodies in
science,

and i touch
what is
considered

forbidden
knowledge about
the stars;

the longing of
the supernova
to cover as

much of
the blackness
as it can in

a moment
of explosive
intensity. write

me a song on
the blackboard
in health class

comparing your
nature to the
onslaught of

solar winds,
atmospheric
pressure on my

lungs, and
the force of
gravity you

inflict
upon the
bearer of flowers.

tug and pull
celestial seeds
floating in

its own beaker.
attack me.
force me to

answer and
make me
want more.

ignore my
protest and eat
up the blank

space with
smeared
fingerprints and

crude words
about my lust in
the dark

and how
the night sky
swallowed me

whole.

I.
Back to remembering how his
voice might have sounded in the wind, —
catching the wind on her tongue.

II.
And she said nothing but air!
His chest heaved in and out
of the words they might have said.

III.
He stirred awake in her mind
when nothing seemed to wait
on her as she fought to catch her breath.

I loved how hollow the nights were after I crucified them to my walls.

I sing to them when I tap the glass,
my fingerprints smiling on the dust that reminds me of their empty shells.
How many times have I touched their caskets?

My shadowboxes of happiness.

Scarlet lips done in roses. She kisses
the sun goodnight, leaving crimson
smears on the horizon.

She ties black orchids to her ebony
curls; copper-colored hands weaving
redolence into midnight gold.

The night holds her close. She caresses
the leaves and play in
shadows that move like smoke.

Her amber eyes catch moonlight like
glowing drops of honey. The tears from her
eyes always the sweetest.

Operatic tones held in drifting
petals; zephyr notes from her
soothing voice played by trees.

The sun lights a bonfire on the horizon;
she gently kisses the embers
and recedes like the tides.

Fire drains into blue light.
Orange seeds dot the sky. They look
on and see him kiss her in the morning.