Do you know my
love, where the road ends...
They're dry and dead
these fake flowers...
My laceration
and your thorns are what the red...
The biggest nemesis of spring
is not winter that imbues her...
Listening to green voice?
genderlessly...
The end of night had left
a bloody trail...
Some days I’m a wilted flower
yearning for the clouds to rain upon me...
Your face swims like
a myth...
the sun that day was
beautiful and if it rained...
And there she lay upon the hill
Her slope so green and thicker still...
Butterflies hover
over blooms while blooms hover...
Your face becomes
an eye, a saga of...