Fourth Piece

She was made of ringlets of laughters,
made of the scent of an apple orchard.
She was the quiet ripples of endless summers nights,
and her dress was drenched in sweet wine.
Purple poured into drunken purple.
She was made of all good things
that slipped through my fingers.
And I was made to love no one
but her.

Second Piece

I have nothing to give you, my love,
but a jar of my melted laments.
Be still, it’s too hot to touch.
Shapeless sorrows as such
will burn harder than you remember.
Put it up on the shelf, my love,
it will be there forever.
Let’s smile and drink wine today and
let’s not destroy
that remaining sensibility
of the pointed finger.