Sad songs
Soft whispers
In search
Of a papable heart
Spring sprung
Out of a sputtering
Winter
Leaving me stuttering
Filling in the blank space
With words
Burning memories for warmth
Planting flowers
Inside my corpse
Growing violently
Upwards towards
The sun
Comming up short
Leaving
Air and opertunity
Fecundating
Spilling seeds
Cyclical
And its a picnic
Not money , cars and cavier
Desires are matchsticks
The light anywhere kind
I flick one
Off the heal of my boot
It doesn’t react
So I strike
her peach face
We know fruit spoils
So we engulf and enjoy
Life has always been
The minority of death
So slip slow
And suck suppely
On the marrow
If not today
It will come tomarrow