You dried out slowly in a teardrop on my face,
as rivers of caress, strong spirits in a glass.
You leave no space, a shallow breath when eyes embrace
of chosen ones, for stranded once – you bold as brass.
I cup my thoughts, as one, for memories to grace.
You like to dance through our past as wind in grass,

flee hastily as Cinderella, losing minds.
For what is lost, it goes away with tapping heels
and bleeds as skies, refinds the way to stay refined.
The breathing is outlined by what would cool or kill,
it munches pious dreams and flies completely blind,
persistently retains its under-blade-caught thrill.

When lips are touched and flapping like a waspish swarm,
the words are sweet, as if to freeze to death in snow.
I’ve nothing left except to thank you for the storm –
the firebird that circles in the sky of love.
You dried out greatly, fluent in recalls and charms,
coagulating slowly in a quid pro quo.

February 10, 2010