Morning Glory

When

flowers hold

the Sky,

~

We

hold one

another,

~

and we

don’t even

know it.

  

 

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In Love And War

There is no mystic moon,
on a mountain between
the pine trees

Oh God…
… forgot I didn’t believe in you!

What’s these hands,
mouths, skin, and the curve
of an ass have anything
to do with righteousness…
… with beauty?

The world opens
with a spring blossom, and yet…
we’ll be the best gardens
when we’re gone

Oh mystic Moon…
they say, it’s all fair
in love and war, 

… it’s all fair, in love and war

Pieces

There are
no Seasons
to hold onto;
ask The Rose.

I can smell the
spicy freshness of Fall,
hovering above my lips…
before kissing the
pink of Summer goodbye.

There is
no cheapness
in the love of Seasons.

We strip down,
when all the petals have blown;
falling into
the rest of our lives.

Ask The Rose
about Winter,
ask the bird that sits
at the side of our grave
eating the seeds of rose hips.

Somehow,
somewhere…
growing again
into the depths
of Spring, into
the Seasons of our lives;
our skin and bones.