I ask you on a misty morning if people
still talk about ending wars
the way they talk about car accidents
and the sweat on your upper lip.
Three shots ring out
like battle cries
and I must appear
so peculiar to these
people around me.
You tell me that
I look as though I have
woken up this morning
and realized that I have
only become half the person
I thought I would
be by now.
Oh watch how the shore
slopes and curves like
the bridge of your nose.
Not only do you compare my
flesh to that of a canvas
prior to the creation of a masterpiece
but you compare the sky
to a phoenix
as it burns in amongst itself
and is reborn later
at some point.

I pluck your strings, you are my Spanish guitar.
You are the empty cavity beneath
the taut surface of a drum.
You are the steady
beat, beat, beat of my heart.
You are the way my azure
eyes light up when I
awake in the morning
and see just you with me,
clothed only in early morn' sunlight.
Will you remember me
when the dust settles?
Love, I touch your backbone
like it is a rain-soaked harbor
and I am just finding my way
as I go.

Rivers dry and sailors cry.
Oh, woe is this lonely life
we live and sorrowful, sorrowful
is the curse you set upon
this sleepy town as you left
with salt over your shoulder.
Dawn breaks across the shadows
that scared us so, once.
We see this and we press our
cheekbones to the wall
I would like to hear the planet when it
collides with space stones.
Your engine purrs to life
and the vibration can be felt
with dusty bones.

The pilot drifts into his bin
and he is the first to die.
The east coast bleeds onto
mahogany hearts and
the west coast goes up
as a sunset and
for once,

everything



burns.