Red rover or the black dog?

Hmm. Here's something for ya:


Tried flipping through my file of coloured days but couldn't find it. Life swallowing beauty without even chewing. Naming it does not make it go away. Linens, lindens. Roses grow sore from their beauty, and tales are the least one can steal. Breathe deep a wreath of joy, of roses of sweetpeas of gardenias of lilies of holly of rosemary of rue. Meadows of joy where one runs in white linen. The span of his arms the height of me. Prone, supine, lupine. Pining. Liminal and subliminal, the threshold to walk over, the doorway to a new life. Crossed and crossing. Her feet too delicate to touch earth. World of undoing and the undone. Milk vetch. Again and again and again. Inky blue of inconsolable longing, of missing, of loss. Red to die, blue to bring back. Wearing white silk shirts and chambray skirts. Taffeta and crinolines. A hope inside a hoop. A man to walk alongside, the pepper for your salt, the sun for your moon. Fresh-mown grass. Again. Falling and befallen. How does it happen? There was a white haze over the city. Merry, my lord. Do not adjust your set. Do not set your judgement against me. Don't stand so close, so close. Eat the peach, hand extended, fingers quivering. Cherries apples plums roses white never red. The glaring yellow of an angry eye. Lost and lost. I can sense the end. Almost never at a loss for words in my head but cannot make my lips form them. Lies slip so blithely.