hunger gazes
into
two succulent
pools
of
wild honey and
drool-
sponged from lips
in vain
and
tongued from tip before
cone drips
again.
petals wilted but
not dead
so
don’t toss us out
just yet,
‘less you’ve found a
glow within
snow
warm enough to stir
new growth.
this shameless
bed
begs for your bold
yet shy
hand pressed to our
reflection
bleeds red like each
breath stands
erect.
today i’ll take
it light..
only to find my way
back to
night.
should i tease
truth
from
treacheries?
..refuse to
stay
buried within
chest
caves under
regret.
hands tremble then
recede
like my body’s
braille
of language
failed
to mend intent
unsaid.
a bowl gathers
dust-
guarding keys that
seldom
turn
in lock of
door
impaled till
sore.
where are you
when
elsewhere and
scared
that you were
followed
there?
treading time’s blend
of clear and
clouded
pond fiercely
stirred
then
settled as if never
disturbed.
friend dearest reaches for
my hand on
stroll
and it’s a little
hard to
hold
hope when not
in control
of
the price of
gold.
hands in the garden 
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