I am an auspicious rose;
yet even my bitter thorns...

I am pushed by eager early birds
who force the pregnant sun...

Pea green funnels
entangle themselves foolishly...

She knows not of her past avenger
nor of the crosses that laid at her side...

Evanescent angels
cradle crescent melodies...

I quench the fire's leaping tongue
with the last quarter of my bottle...

Resist
the urge to kneel...

The hour is at hand
when judgment will be pressed upon us...

It is spring when her words
...do not take the form of ice...

My raspy breath thunders past airwaves
- tapping the ticklish treasure chest...

I promenade across firefly bridge,
absentmindedly missing the obvious mention of my...

Perhaps I do not have to go searching far for...
do the grain's wisps not whistle a tune to my...