Like the light that smokes space steam between our lips. As your smell runny between my toes, and shakes. As the winter that kills the leaves to save the tree or rain the ashes of a burned forest. So you're cruel and indispensable normal and unique, tiny and cumbersome. No reason them alternatives. Still far away. Too close. never mine.
The House of Winter
has a special silence and a time
eternal waiting that can hurt. Here lives a rose that feeds on love: her, that looks like you like anything, needs your warmth. House Autumn light sleep over every leaf lying on the grass like a cloth. not sleep but instead wants to touch the rose and I wait in the doorway his sister and my wife. The house in Spring has no walls,
my love, no barrier
and everything is as you see it: the sky in celebration and the grass under your feet. The rose window at has a new color,
her, that love is a teacher and his has the same smell your smell. the summer house
is only light that you do not see you, people who do not love;
you who do not believe that a rose has a home for all
and if a man marries a
and that the bride is you.
