he loves me,
gorgeous in the morning when
the wine drys clear on your lips
like any day in the winter.
though summer feeds the broken hearted
long awaited hellos mend anything
in the heat of the afternoon, sometimes
all night long. a sunset
so romantic you don’t dare put it into words,
i’ll leave it at the tip of my tongue.
the page isn’t even worthy.
i’ve seen the first fall of a leaf, heavy
so it just sinks from branch to
unearthly pavement, ravished
by man. it’s homesick until it dies.
he loves me,
silent in the night, our voices
crack from little use. our tongues back off,
and sink into our mouth on a walk home.
our feet make so much noise as
our shadows, so much taller than us and
speaking great philisophical stories,
disappear into the light of the moon.
