Friday, May 15, 2015

Evening Pollinate

Eyes wrinkle towards central summer bee stings and strawberry blush cheeks
Blonde pollen stained tips of my fingers
Bright with electric monochrome yellow heat
I enlighten to dawn; and slide closer to the dusted white border of my room
Yet so close standing between the lengths of our folded arms
Eyes constrict and yet we gaze at each other in corresponding two and a quarter seconds- any longer leeches a journalistic or entitlement danger.
And we mustn't! We mustn't! Mustn't! But why (barely referential) not?
Because you see, three dusty parables:
The Incident of figs in mid-evening: crackling syllables to motion.
Two: Welded gilt mirrors collapse, shatter into two single pieces.
Finally: Sky turns gilt bronze, jumps into essential Icarus-lightning, eternally.
And now do you yet see? Eyes flicker wide to archaic flattened seas.