THE WHITE ROSE PAINTED WITH BLOOD

xxxviii - because your eyes are filled with the epitome of beauty

there are pastel pink roses blooming on your dimples and i count stars in the craters bordering your lips and stars dancing over your nose and beneath your green gray gold eyes

your eyes are the same shade as a spring breeze rippling o'er rosewater forest ponds watercolors of green, honey and gray bursting at the tip of the brush and staining the whites of your eyes with breathless cubes of vertigo

there are tanned gold beaches in your cheeks, your face of caramel tangerine skin rusting in the desert sun and tropical heat

your hair is swirled of peach pits, dried figs, and chocolate milk 

and the rain fell
and slipped into
the cracks of the
sidewalk where
they stay until
they fade away
like a memory
that will never
be remembered

<neglectedlikeme>

your hair hang over your forehead like suspended waterfalls and they look like brown silk with the texture of liquid. but its your eyes your eyes your eyes your eyes. in them there is a meadow of gold surrounding a lush green forest under a gray gray sky and i want to run into them and get lost forever in the crowds and crowds of infinite trees.

and the rain fell
like torn kites
falling and falling
and falling and
falling until they
kiss the earth
where they fall
through the dirt
and bury them-
selves in their
own grave

<dyinglikeme>

but somehow you seem to brighten all the colors around me as if you are pouring honey from your lips and eyes and then we met eyes and i stopped breathing

but oh, it must have been a hallucination. it must have been

because your eyes are filled with the things you see and your eyes are filled with the epitome of beauty

it must have been a hallucination because i am not beautiful