You’re big news in my heart
I expect you hate it,
passed out trees in kisses
a clung bouquet, a whole choircord,
a midwife of the weather pushed inside
old systems that could just be left.
Relaxed bullet ankles in climbed out glares,
make for sudden seconds of colours
decorating your fossil inland eyes
that have made me reckless this time
not agile but collapsed,
cocked in lakewater.
unalive summers
right though the thought of not dying
undressing snowdrops
in the look of sticks which are slightly unrun over
made for the leisure of knees and sub-shadows
uncollected by a jury of things which could be like heaven.
I took you this time
astrayed and incapable
not able to confirm til…
the high gulls dropped you finally
this time blaming the significance of the sky,
dreams of all turned blue still.
.
Greta Bellamacina