Heliotrope:


Your demise more lovely than fields of flowing grey,
The sun rays that pour from under your eyelids
Dusted with the ocean spray.
I calmly grace your finger tips, for a dance among the violet
Shields of legacy and hunted shadows that flee from your
Guided darkness.

You are my welcomed defeat, so lovely to die in your arms
Of delicate circumstance, fleetingly designated a treasure of the dead mans heart.

Can I have you, wholesome as the milk white leaves
That fall from your bitter backyard, of trees and oleander.

I want to lay here and forget you world.


Forget the name I use to know.



Here where your shudders are open to truth and love.