our hands

a corner guitar slips into the wall.
 haze-- a shade purple, blackberry
and juniper. mix
 like ice-cream flavours scenting
the nose.

 

you bury me inside yourself.
poignant letters stare
at the crumpled face, mine,
my own.
this yellow bickering
has softened to a whisper.

 

it is of the garden, and of the rose.
the soil moist and damp, hits the
spring air. old gnomes rust
and wish to burn and cities
sleep like angels in the snow.

catch me--
i cry.
 
but we are caught in webs. betrayed
by eager hands,
and found weeping; wiping snot
and grinning. just fools on
thin ice.

 

our hands:
so thin and sticky.