torn labels

what good is common sense
cinnamon and fume blanc

she enterd december
on th seventh
and shook th’empty bottle
my heart was in

as snowflakes to thin skin, nothing changed

                  but one night on tay
                  we lost our inhibitions
                  in a winter hot tub

                  go ahead, baby, undress in th laundry room
                  while I caramelize th’onions

ice prints run from th backdoor
and slip into a pool of smoke

th thin white thigh of winter
extends from behind th treetops
and traces my body in th darkness

th astronomics of her merlot laugh
th low pressure of black clouds pushing gently by

th moon, intent
th neighbour’s bathroom light, on

through steam
words came out in nature                          hard to / in here

rivulets of sweat
and immortal drops of breath push

snow dris from th branch of a pine
onto my shouder

fearful of th unseen frame
around us 

     pine needles             upon our shudders                forest presses

and small I watchd a bead of sky condensed slips down her blade
and across her breast 

    8          

               seasons don’t just
                drive slowly, this time
                  was our biggest mistake

                     for every strand of long au
                       burn hair
                         i find year after year.

# posted by hardyf : 01:10