Hush, I Might Kiss You

She thought the winter would
keep her warm, that the biting

and bitching wind would be but
hushed kisses on her neck,

and the idiosyncratic flakes of
frost would be her shroud.

Her eyes spattered the bleak
panorama with green and gold

reflections of autumn nights on
tempestuous swells and breakers,

becoming the stars hovering above
crookedly bleeding chest organs.

Soft lavender oblivion has kept her
artfully sedated beneath the

steely clouds of Yuletide. Held
underwater, she sees nothing but

nothing, yet her tongue speaks
of the sapphire sun on the horizon.

Language is Louder Than Words

You don’t sing anymore, your eyes said to me,
spattering me with the golds and greens
that you would never make out, just like
the reflections of streetlights on raindrops.

Your mouth whispered to me,
You are so beautiful, and
my heart bled crookedly with the
luminous faces of the stars overhead.

Your chest murmured to me, please,
thrumming the word with every perennial
pulse of your chest organ and I
couldn’t help but kiss you.