and the roses were polaroid.

when we parted
the skies were singing thunderstorm
operas. dressed in tidal waves- my fingers twitched
to the sound of her eyelids closing
on my shoulder.

and I am. fixation mounted on eyeglass.
testing cool water with the taste
of fire tongues and cocaine eyes.

and the rain.
it's pounding on my face. like pellets
of sand- the glass is protruding from my shirt pocket
and my heart is a few beats short of
a landslide. so I break breath like past tense jesus
but I'm splitting sand blowers
my rib cage could use a little painting.


and red. just isn't my color.