Tattered conversations
whisper-yelling corpses
beaten both by romance,
pleading better chances;
on withered flower gardens
muddy, wooden furnace
where gravestones broke down;
from desperation's promise,
but I've thirsted these;
and I've bled solely
for future-healing wounds,
patterned by what's holy;
which love never did
but feisty over-pride,
these freely-living timing
hopes never override;
for evening stars be falling,
still, now wishes be granted
for wasted years are buried,
unlike what futures wanted;
wanted separation,
wanted independence,
wanted early sorrows,
wanted present -- ended;
since the ground's apart;
in compact grasp no more,
with the clouds bombarding
out stories with our storms;
so shall we depart
close attachments we broke;
or our closeness -- apart
for this hoping's our hoax.
