The Decay

You want me like a flower

to take on a cold yellow

become nothing but a seedling

thrown to the winds

You beg for the death of a sunset era

you pray for love to die

"Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low,

as one dead in the bottom of a tomb."

O’ you wish for such ghastly things

the skin is so deeply bruised

that I think I shall never see its ivory sweetness again

You wan before her beauty

and wallow in the memory of flecks of gold

that held you in such warmth

you fear you’ll never find again

Easterly Winds

I yearn to be the tree’s trunk

a cliff next to harsh tides

carve a triangle of me

little cherub,

your mouth stings

on the bitterest of nights

so take flight

and break like those before you

upon the sodden and dank ground

where my roots rest

awaiting easterly winds

to set their sales

and take me away