flame

i love you

she says.

i love you

and

more than a friend.

she smiles her ceruleans

from her side of

the peony pillow and

brushes blondes

behind my eyes.

it is five

and the night

is silence

except for

the crickets

 whistling

at the blackness.

the

stiletto grass is

still

and the curtains 

breathe

so slightly.

 and the beige flame
on the skull candle

sways with her words.

i love you.

 the world has inhaled.

and i am the fence

on which

her world

is impaled. 

my sight is

eclipsed by

 her kiss

and her

skin

and her lips

are smooth.

her rose

petal

wrist

sweeps my cheek

and

our fingers lace

as my heart

races

and the day

erases
the night.

the wax

melts the skull's

final eye

and smoulders

the flame

into a coiling frizz

of smoke

and she

can read me.

i know.

 she

collects her things

and goes.

one summer

I watch as

she presses a

sweet cherry

between her lips

runs her tongue

into its

crevice

and devours it

and the pit.

she lets the juice

drip

onto her chest

and

she has saved

the soft

green stem,

which she knots

in her mouth

and places on my bare knee.

I paint my mind

across her face;

peach cheeks,

icy eyes,

stony

self

assuredness.

and all I want

is her

cherry kiss.

to

catch

the juiced drip

before her

nipple

and

whisper

into her skin.

my breath would be

fruity

and my words

sweet.