Where else is wetter then this shallow tear?
For this speaking feels so final, so total.
Turn away I thought as I watched you float
The ribbon of life, just here, was not for you.
You were like cream and I like a crimson moat.
You have placed your finger upon my lips
And you may never take it off.
I groan whilst you, up Dale,
Kick my fate to the field beyond;
Which is up hill and in a nest of arms.
It is like, you, have overcome us
And left me at your Springtime.
Like a wheel barrow of life’s embryos
To be cast off on a needle of passion.
I so long to be with you in your Summer.
But my eyes drop and drip to fill this bucket
I’m in the cling of forgotten embraces.
My sting is not of my own love,
But of the beat of another’s heart, yours,
And it’s touch beneath the willow for which we both weep
©2013-19 Christopher Thompson