the garden of you,
and spider webbed dreams.
pine sap running, hot and molten,
my tongue rests…
inside your soul.
love me dammit,
or write me letters.
send them to
‘destination unknown’!
buy a dress for my funeral,
a hat, and new shoes…
any color but black!
inside and inside,
peeling layer after layer.
conversation of sparrows,
struck mute by flesh.
you taste sweat of summer,
i am past late autumn.
the gods of time lied!
what if i wrote you a poem,
and silence wept?
would you hear the train,
and point to the sky?
would you pray for rain?
and listen for the sound…
of the knock on your innermost door!