greenwitch

[I] In the garage, down the hall, where I heard the baby, corrugated abreast the wall, where we built the shelf two stories up, in love, I learned that you have beautiful lips and too late, your name Glazed, the river train in a roar whittled away as a dusty crayon wetly, the gravel hums in the rain in the canyon bend lights, at the tunnel terminus where we left that paper bleed wet crayon like mud green, forgotten always a roar. [II] Ten paces and two legs born in them and sharpshooters die in them rusty devil sunsets, sandy hair, dicey eyes out the corners where we meet, green meridian sharp, nosing backlit around the corner implicit as night, where my silhouette, be, where, I still cannot sleep certain nights, green betwixt the thighs.