My love we haven’t danced or linked arms Like those leafless apple trees in the orchard. Not for a while have we rolled in the weir… Ankle to ankle, souls, bobbing naked inward-
Love cuts through, cowardly, courage. To find an arrows pinpoint of weakness… Where it can draw drops of crimson blood Eking out its Sires; Bow-wielding warrior’s emptiness...
There’s a banquet table So big, and so, high It leaves us mindful …That the floor is a pigsty. Hummingbird on the wind Flutter; just suspend… Note not flowers pinned.
