Pink gin, jade moss,
For green, for despair,
Jaded eyes on the meadows
Blue souls
Of deserted battles
Bruises give them hue
Howl Louisiana gospels
To a half moon, faraway heron,
Seen in cerulean hours
A star falls, it’s felt
To ask through a wish
What my heart keeps in her strands
Should a kiss e’er believe
That’s the last to ever be?
How can thin, looped lips
Bear a temple of refrained love
Sufjan, there’s no seeing
The first without my eyes:
No more than her closed ones, were
Yet the last has all of mine
Judging whether’t was given right:
How does one seal the shrine?
Flowers for each full moon night,
A life of sweetness in a last glance?
I have given such a kiss
And still don’t know my choice
For’s the kiss to know the truth, but
A kiss only through itself has voice
Letters to myself: a diary 