I grew heavy with breath beneath the valance of her breast,

Heavy and wide, unburdened of a shore I became full.

On a dead and dying July foul and coarse

The distant dissonance of a young moon mixed

With puerile thoughts upon the ménage of soft hands,

The coarse coat of her furless fur distends,

And land is land, died and dying land…

Over how many tables did our conversation grow stale?

Upon mendacious eyes and unbalanced hallways

As unheard footsteps littered clothes littered with riposte

To turn and to ask if only you would have

As I sat and watched drywall mold

Times when silence was not enough

When this autumn oak held together an uniformed frown

And the children of now are awake in a dream

I would never want to be awake in…

Days of wonder to wonder unafraid of the morning

As fall tongues fall and meet over flakes of gold and cream

And dust is just an idea of a morning, afternoon, or night

Burdened by the weight of it are we not infallible

Under silk sheets have we not as thighs met hands

And hands met chests said and spared of disparity

Under the weather of a day which unwithered hours hung

As sepals in bloom waiting to be plucked

And I knew not of disappointment but made the appointment

To say for once it might have left

Yet disappoint is salient and even under lovelier days will it bloom.

-G.