D E B A U C H E > . . .

can't seem to see
the floodplain me
our hostel imprint glassware time
escapes our shell
Your heart in mine

this sadness beads of
atrophy
still rushed in turpid
meaning crush

come with our duster
dreams cloaked
damp The misting rains
that turn hope black
our naked room
with trembling timid
fingers on our backs

the bare breast haste
the passion rage
our loins brazen
with the spring
and now
our fall

where autumn sings
and winter sheds
her wings
to rest
while hundred mile
winds roam far
below the vivid
handmade scar
forsake this
love
this bruise
our mar

like a vivid morning
lonely
My Wild one
the only one

you know whom
you are

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