the keeper

here is a secret nobody knows
you collect butterflies in a jar
blue, orange, silvery winged things
your eyes bright orbs through the glass

your feet are bound in twine, wispy
unlike your memory, as you recall
that one name, that one time

your hands are as unmoving as your
feet, the fear to hold rousing the
desire more and more...and more
for a feel of the fairy dust that
settle on your brow

but your tears are meaningless
for it is your fate
some love without sound
some choose pain for air
some are born to keep

god blessed your soul with butterflies

..

the keeper

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my calla lily

my calla lily
meek and unassuming yet you
kindle intricate fires in men

from the noblest of flickers to
lustful flames hell hath not seen

my calla lily
tell me, are you reaching out
to heaven to importune grace?

or are you seeking the feel of
my hands desirous at once?

my calla lily
not the purest of God's whites
but the sincerest to mine eyes

your pale pale skin is a prayer
even death pauses to listen

my calla lily
you smolder in my bitter snow
and love shows its face to me


but


my calla lily
alas, no devotion, no affection
can enamor the heart of time

it favors none, not a flower, not
a man. Oh my lover my friend!


and so this i avow, if you choose
to wilt and wither before i
come to pass, i shall
exhale butterflies
forevermore


my calla lily


my calla lily

.

my calla lily

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the sunflower

my eyes open with the dawn
breaking, my arm vanishes
into the crevice that
is your space in
my bed.

i hear droplets of water from
the shower, but only
your heat remains,
and a whiff of
lavender.

i trail off into the kitchen
the cold floor and
stale coffee are
witnesses to
my passing.

i fly to the window, hoping,
but there is none,
not even an echo

of the echo of
your name.

i pass the hours looking at
the door, but the
knob remains
silent with
your prints.

i lay on the bed with the moon
in my eyes and my arm
presses, a crevice,
your space in
my bed.


.

the sunflower

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