here (just now)

Here

there is nothing here.

Here, but the un-molested scent of a blue flower

A flower which is not a flower, but is a petal stretching out to become seed

And will it be you then? that will deny me this?

the choked up and remorseful

You, who are absolute beauty

it becomes obvious then, that beauty (a curse) which is its own source of suffering to you

and how it must feel to have it breathing down your neck

or into the tunnel which is your ear

How I, the collector of such

grasp and choke to fill it up

to find it then here

Here

where then there is nothing

Something of a match

inside a mirror

outside mirror

accurately representing something else

a looksey into

Oh, I’ve had it before

You’ve had it before

She found hers, and walk they now like forest people, I swear it.

I imagine yours then, must be tall, about 7

A brown sort, a golden sort

It’s not enough that I reflect to myself that

or read into fairy tales such that I could be the one

but am not so readily heroic

but a liar, but a cheat.

So that I cannot get you

so that you cannot get to them

then both we suffer

or it is love

like the undressed, and not draped, not adorned

under the shiver, His cold breath then

The silver like in the tip top, a mountain

But unlike the color, like the temperature

like the not adorned but fullness of a heart looking up into the branches of the post blue sky’s at the not yet budding

It is early spring

It is early yet

But even so, in a few the lilac will be bursting

Open

and still wont it be,

Something of a match

Inside a mirror, outside mirror

Accurately representing something else

A looksey

No, I don’t think so

It is not enough that I reflect to myself such

or read into fairy tales such that I could be the one

not so readily heroic

but a liar, but a cheat

It is over

no strength for, and either have you

such weakness that has allowance of such touching

touching not me, not touched

not like touched by a song

touched by a bell

or touched

Or the one that pushes on your spine

around it

It is just borrowed

borrowed a waist of time

No,

then why not once more?

then It becomes obvious, that beauty (a curse) which is its own source of curse to you

And how it must feel to have it breathing down your neck

or into the tunnel which is your ear

but even so, in a few the lilac will be bursting

Open

and I that will still be closed

a mirror

No, I don’t think so

A bird

a song

a fool, a fullness that will be peering up

grasping at a collection

something to redeem him

but a liar, but a cheat

It is over

Oh, how we suffer

Here

but the un-molested scent of a blue flower

a flower which is not a flower, but is a petal stretching out to become seed