September 2, 2011
Rest, mantelpiece,
candlewick of fire,
ablaze in blue
like wet tears
in a lake.
Winter frost,
even though the birds are
coming to season, still out of the question
is my
silly, silly reason:
And I abhor it, and
I adore the way I
melt from within at the sight of glowing wings.
Good luck, scooping me up, precious thing,
when liquid jelly
clogs my throat -
I can no longer
speak like a human.
Look! See what you've done?
To me,
it's a lifetime.
To you,
the sun in my eyes rises
and yet
your love, love,
is guided to the west,
at best.

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