in my coarse sorrow
and aching qualm
i think of febrile tomorrows
for
what am i
but a girl obsessed with winter’s poppies
in a torrid mid-July

Eyes of ghosts all fill the room
lovers, made of dust and made of gloom.
I remembered them but I forgot,
to forgive and forget, the lot.
As always, the night went on,
my face in the old glass window
stared at me with an iris of killing pawn.

bring in your hands,
pain and broken daisies.
you cry; like nothing in my arms
grieve for flowers and unsung lullabies.
because you see the whole world as alive
never seen the devil and his harm,
while I live my life through maybes
you refuse to understand.

for more months, i talked to his mirror
because he always looked right back at my own
moon-straught face
he always looked clearer.
from there he seldom strayed from perfect,
he never spoke wise
it seemed he was only reciting my words, disguised.
still, the man that i saw,
through silvery sheen
was so much easier to love and to keep evergreen.

Fruits of the Earth's broken slate
juice and sweet and tongue
flowing; reddest spate.
Tonight and forever, we are young
tell me I am not the only one
that wants to live, worshiped by the sun.
Summer whispers in my ear
plump lips, scrubbed skin
boy is water, boy is clear.
Everything that can be, has been.
All and every arm, a' laid in
and every glutinous youth atoned of sin.
Suffocating desire
lust, sing the choir.
Fresh and raw
succulent sugar-dried flesh
after Winter's aching thaw.
Taste me, test me, core and all.

In winter you can look and look around
but still, as every man has found,
there is no rose.
Girls of calm and February lies
spring and warmth's beginnings.
Always right and sweet and wise -
steal the pleasures of living.
When all has been promised as forever
how am I to refrain?
But then, soon as ruby leaves dissevered,
he left me miseries, left me rain.
For roses bloom on ****** skin
not on libeled skulls
accused of sin.

If Summer were not but a season
and instead a man.
I would beckon him closer,
put myself in his hands.
We would walk slow
silent as happiness
and from me, would grow
a terrible sprig of tenderness.
Feel his radiance right up in my bones,
lay under that sweltering shadow.
Only, come Autumn, to feel so alone.