Walls Fall

Strings Attached.

Now the roadside brambles
set out their stall,
displaying their wares
soft, pale, tall
abundant, generous.

'You remember us. Years
stained on your tongues."

How the anticipation strings us
over summer's high, blue pinnacle
to the very mists of autumn.

How even in the penetralium of May
(a fire woken in the heart of adolescence)
time burns on jade.

How we do remember wayside shrines
of juiced ecstasy
sharp-sweet lusciousness.

And how piquant your juices too.

Allowing a green well of memory a moment,
swims out the greater treasure of your smile.

..