leveled by loss at the
foot of whose
cross..
my heart with
feather
dipped in
blood
of
man made
flood.
I’ve only ever
really..
stumbled thru time’s
debris
on
quest for sturdy
stance
and
though i yet
falter
its
on lighter
feet-
in awkward
dance.
hunger gazes
into
two succulent
pools
of
wild honey and
drool-
sponged from lips
in vain
and
tongued from tip before
cone drips
again.
petals wilted but
not dead
so
don’t toss us out
just yet,
‘less you’ve found a
glow within
snow
warm enough to stir
new growth.
this shameless
bed
begs for your bold
yet shy
hand pressed to our
reflection
bleeds red like each
breath stands
erect.
today i’ll take
it light..
only to find my way
back to
night.
should i tease
truth
from
treacheries?
..refuse to
stay
buried within
chest
caves under
regret.
hands tremble then
recede
like my body’s
braille
of language
failed
to mend intent
unsaid.
a bowl gathers
dust-
guarding keys that
seldom
turn
in lock of
door
impaled till
sore.
where are you
when
elsewhere and
scared
that you were
followed
there?
hands in the garden 
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