as your mind unravels like the roots of this bonsai tree
I will decoupage your words upon my arms
as tattoos to a the skin of a peach
Cover your mind in my own lost elegies
falling from my fingertips like drops of dishwater
that stain the front of your shirt.
There must be something you have left to say
there must be more to your facial expressions
then lost reflections of yesterday.
I would have kissed your cheek but the smoke
made me nauseous and unstable
like a small child between fever.
Tell me when will you make your plight to me
asking for new secrets and old remedies.
Tell me when will your mouth trace me
in the script half truths and full lies.
For now our bones plead in protest
Of our standing in this torrent of smoke and fear.
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