The octave of us is an avenue
of blackbirds with marbleized wings
As the blacksnake licks the bobcat
in a Herculean daze.

Your impotent homeland spread
the last deep-sea of freckles
on your icy, olive face.

Your blemished hands belong on you like
Auburn liqueur on pale blue tablecloths.

I swim in the black of your eye until it
liquefies like blues in autumn.

We talk like friends of jewel and berry bandits
Erasing halls of bored handwriting.

Rays from his barren eyes
Collect the cranberry air,
Rainfall carries the temper
of comets to the crib.

Consoled by the concord of thyme's,
minerals and misty plums,

His blood is baptized
with the cocoa and
toffee climate.

Prancing through the
crooked underground

His roots condemn
the pressure.

Thoughts of solemn drifts
Time in laps
of waves and sun-down.
His dramatic, purple soul
lives in the sands
of wooden music and butterfly leaves.

Taken back
Not there but all of this here
Balances itself like landing tornadoes.