Your eyes are stars.

They are lost and far away.

like they just don’t want to care but
can’t seem to get by unnoticed

They are chained to fate.


Your mouth must be a serpent

because even though you forbid it,
the tips coil up as a gut reaction

They are pink and thin

Pulled back over crooked teeth and
triangled like the Grinch’s

Your fingers are branches
carrying a bird midsummer song

spindled and ivory

naked birch and white



white




snow

You smell like something
warm and musky

Something that has sat in moth balls a while too long

Something I’d come to even if it didn’t have advice to give and

Some one

who could make a clogged weeping willow

feel
majestic and strong, again

Cradle me in your branches and
make me breathe in your song