In the rose garden near the edge
of the Brandywine, the smells
of dead water and flowers mix,
while I trail you like a shadow,
wishing for a dark and quiet place
where we can put skin to skin.

The colors are everywhere, and
overpowering, yet, there is no
shade of green to replicate the
color of my eyes, no shade of
brown to replicate the color of
your skin. This thing between
us, it does not occur in nature,
has no use for growing things.

You don't know what I'm thinking,
being lost in the peace of the
woods, lulled by the river song
into forgetting that we don't
belong here. We always burn
what's around us, make blistered
corpses of each other, nothing
but ashes of everything else.

06/29/2004

Posted on 06/30/2004
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