heaven

 

Heaven drips from his eyes

and corners his mouth

with a smile, not of joy.

Ruby red drops

Not of violence, but

Made with his soul.

But he is a boy

and boys do grow

like a story told

along time, all time.

He kissed me goodbye

one cold yellow day

and said not one word of sorrow.

As sweet as the taste

of his lips

are his hands

dipped into my heart

and his eyes are bright.

What he once was

stayed, thanks to his goodbye.

But his smile will fly

away with his scent,

and one day

I will have nothing left

but a blond lock

of a once sweet thing

that dripped with heaven

into my life.