Dear,
My words are stars that cannot conceive...

I will see this through
because the idea of you still shocks my spine...

I mourn for the butterflies,
their departure was sudden...

I'll be dreaming of tangerine smiles
and kool-aid kisses...

So full of color
our possibilities once shone like a sunny...

You are such strange fruit, oblong and fuzzy
with a purple belly and...

You're as giving as stone;
pretty to behold...

It's no mystery loving a man
who behaves like the moon...

All the poems I wish your lips could feel,
to taste their raw discontent...

Darling,
Hush your tongue of its retorts...

Oh, how the heart loses its grace
and foams about the mouth...

I can tell by the slump of my words
that they're tired of standing in this imagery...