Your hands willing fold
flocks of breathe in heaps;
tragic.
The tirade of laughter;
remorse;
broken lines mark time wilted.
I slick clean through like damp soap-
demask the rose that wept
and still fall loose like leaves
from trees that dream of summer.
A single drop from sagging eyes
Pops like batter to a frying pan;
startled.
and
I fall quicker each time to the black
Starlet night that glues me
with it's symmetry.
