Asleep, in an epileptic dream,
He weeps on a bed called guilt…
Her picture afloat a placid stream,
Her face he kissed with a woven quilt…
The drowning seed sprouts a tree,
A blind man cries to his hymn alone…
Leaves cry as the winter flees,
Her moon sits on a frozen throne…
His tears drown the tulips beside,
A pigeon cries for slaughter…
Her eyes, a woolen coffin to reside,
Her scent like wine and water…
Her hair drowns the tainted blossom,
A butterfly flies with wings on fire…
Roses sped as the tulips rotten,
Her breath is his lonesome desire…
Friday, December 9, 2011
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