Silence envelops the moths inside,
flying into my gut wall...

How I wish my purse heavy with paper
rather than heavy with copper...

Remember us; forget- me- not,
my lips now, liked severed petals...

Portrayals of an inspired mind.
Made not by one anima...

In a visionary second,
bloody eyes at pin- point pose...

Those who argue with sheep
are shammyclad in basic black...

A tipped bottle on the windowsill
next to the wine cascade...

A pearl sneers
over vanilla stones...

Ashen shoes with
buttercup laces; untied...

Trees of Oak and Chestnut,
at opposing sides of my kitchen...

Eyelashes caress my cheek,
-- your lips, do the same, on mine...

My breast pounds in woe
and my molars butcher the cherry flesh...