this night blooms
in the sheath of youth,
a colored whimpering
shuddering like branches.

opening bare, barely,
beneath heavenly canvas,
autumnal touches abound,
leaving a lingering absence.

absence of warmth
and shivering foliage,
that masquerades as a
tinder basket lullaby.

raspy whispers mention
sonatas and saxophones
that swoon a gentle heart,
rendered servile, comatose.

comatose on cloud nine
at the verge of limbo,
ignorance is blissful
and defiant of the reaper.

and happiness mirrors the moon,
becomes beams uncatchable,
becomes a faint question,
it begs after what is left.

what is left of water cycles
from the trickles in eyes?
a once evaporated
molecule of former self.

what is left of a body
drenched in dewy doubt
and softs shades of dusk,
locks star combed, grief parted?

parted diamonds from silt,
a certain saline erosion
of ever shifting dunes.
cavernous depths are revealed

to be fiberglass,
and gritty undertones.
overshadowed evermore
by their tender flesh of down.

down, soft and fragile
as the unsheathed sky,
a darkness cut by twinkling
gravities cast afar.

settling on youths bare
caught in the sound
of the haze rooting
as this night blooms.