for periwinkle - it is
forward.
moon of my eyes, transparent
that which dispairs
cannot accomplish
trusted as equal
resources and tethered
to the necks’ alabaster.
of the loved (and the harvest
planted by the old degree)
as a scented box of sandle-
wood whose contents
capture
the clouds of would. It spanks
of reason - the old boy
won’t canary his ears
with two cups of tea -
left to others to clean
out his ears. Tool’d
together with eager
embraces, tampered
with futures of the
accordion sport;
one woman’s son,
spent of the chill
of a falling, rising,
falling again.
