a jet to marvel at your fury
and turquoise from the rings that adorn your fingers-
fingers, like lady macbeth's may never be clean of sin again. hands i've
longed to hold that carry a legacy of violence...
but eyes of amber impeccability that engulf me like an ant
and a nose like the button of my blouse.
what and ode to cruelty..
will the gift of overpriced iced coffee make her realize my hopelessness for her?
will she think of how the winter evergreens are still green, close to mine of my eyes?
will she see the daffodils while in the cold and think of me what could flourish?