I sit on the pew silent and unmoved as a dying...
The priest’s eyes wander to my still mouth...

The skin of demons stretches over my dry bones
Blood the color of decay flows through my marrows...

The rumbles reverberate through every inch of this...
The flashes reflect into the royal oceans of these...

Colors of the Tuscan sun flood the early risers of...
Myself among the anticipating...

Turn off the lights and let’s pretend
Like the hippies in the park parade...

Paint me a tapestry
Colors richer than the red wine, the fresh fruit...

Empty, unplowed fields
Thick, lonesome woods...

Open the door, walk inside
Robotically asked, “How are you...

Auburn hair strewn over lined, wrinkled paper
Mascara pollutes her tears, falling downward...

It smells of sweet, fresh grass
Crinkles and whines as our bodies crush each blade...

The swing, the backyard, made out of rope and wood
Tied to that old gnarled maple crooked as can be...

Every moment that passes seems not worthy of my...
Precious time...