Grey drenches memories.

It comes in waves,

in floods.

It swallows the color,

the life,

drains the pictures one holds dear.

Silver clippings

of auburn hair

cover the table

in a way 

only her smile

could,

and does.

The scissors hold

a grace unlike that of

a widow,

yet unlike that of

virgin lust.

She who cuts

not only cuts that of the

physical.

She who shapes

is a widower of

god.

Every bottle holds a story,

a single tear of

past

future

now.

Galaxies upon galaxies are 

dreamt into feathers of

tomorrow,

birthed by the bygone bottles

of the moon.

Every child grows (and knows) 

the tale,

every man weaves his

thread.

Sisters and cousins

learn to be by the bottle,

the cocoon of life,

to be wary,

to grow in a

religion only the bottle 

holds.

Every bottle

holds a story,

a tear,

a feather,

a thread,

a religion.

Every bottle holds the dead.

Songs of hope

of red roses and white

from years to come and to years past;

of smiles

and trees

turned to tears

worn by cycles of the moon;

of sorrow

and green gables 

covered by masks

of gold;

of love

and feathers

painted as tasks 

essential.

Songs.

A year ago you smiled

and more than just your eyes

glowed.

This brilliance,

this light,

was not noticed by many;

it was noticed by me.

Today you smiled

and more than just your eyes

glowed.

But I failed to

notice.

Cotton hair

of wispy white

floats around her azure eyes.

Her fertile skin

of brown, green, and tan

is covered, 

and exposed, 

by a dazzling dress of magnificent blue.

An obsidian crown

embedded with thousands of diamonds

lies upon her head.

She is a nurturer of the sick,

supplying everything her children need.

She is a tyrant

with an anger stronger than the gods'.

She is an inventor,

creating beyond imagination.

She is a demon.

She is an angel.

She is a god.

She is the most beautiful,

inspiring,

intimidating thing to exist.

Blonde hair,

evening prayer,

Our Father, Who art in heaven

Hallowed be Thy Name.

Golden rings,

violin strings,

Thy kingdom come,

Thy will be done.

Pressed cotton,

faith forgotten,

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

Labored sleep,

lovers weep,

forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Leaving soon,

eclipsed moon,

lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil. 

Amen.

White waves

and copper clouds,

raven feathers

and peony petals.

A small bit,

a piece.

Every now and then the stars align, and

everyone told me love was blind.

Baby, heaven's in your arms. 

I bless the rains down in Africa, I

baptize my soul with the help of your waters.

Take me to church.

In a land of Gods and Monsters I was an angel,

I s[aw] fire burning the trees.

Good God, let me give you my life.

Every time I close my eyes it's like a dark paradise,

no one compares to you.

Heaven help a fool who falls in love.

When I was seven

and fell down the stairs 

I wanted to die.

You were 13,

you told me to wait.

When I was 13

and hit by a car

I wanted to die.

You were 18,

you told me to wait.

When I was 18,

depressed with split wrists,

I wanted to die.

You were 26,

you told me to wait.

When I was 26

and slipped off the roof

I wanted to live.

You were 26,

the spitting image of me,

like looking in a mirror.

It took me until our fourth encounter to cry.