Wind
The icy winds pierce my heart and my soul.
They don’t call it crazy in love for nothing
Such a beautiful mess
this thing brings to mind,
seeding visions, ideas
ordinarily one does not find,
such as petals in slow motion,
opening and an animated moon
making an apparition.Oh what lovely chaos this thing fosters
to the senses, what music to the
ears it delivers, a butterfly singing
while perched on an anther
the chorus with a red breasted robin
of “Love me tender”.
With Fingers, Crossed
The air, saturated by half delusions
carries my love afflicted soles higher
to where the clouds befriend the skies
and I bear a smile broad as the cat, Cheshire.
But though I may be dazed, my fingers bend
to a cross, an apotropaic hand gesture behind
my back, begging let not this have a wrenching end,
I’d waste my breaths wishing, you treat me kind.
