the trees wept silence
falling gently into the 3 a.m. sleepsweat
blood the color of dreams,
and the boy slipped off the ledge,
face flexing into a full moon night,
all beauty and blossoms that blushed and were too shy to open
what kind of night is this
but one of nostalgia
and the late night purring babys breath on the front lawn
her nose exploded into the flower of the soft spot between my nose and mouth
all white and lavender
the center the liquid light honey
bea,
when you come fresh faced and proud
the angels will use stars as lassoes and reel you back among them
to sing them the songs of your lucid moments
under nights putrid blanket they'll wink at me
and promise that every ugly crow be your blue eyes
so natural blue
stained with profound waves ebbing liquid gasps
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