untitled 3Fall off the lip of a secret,climbing into green eyes.A weak surprisemakes your grace discontent.
untitled 2Dreaming a mean truthmakes us chew jealous pleasures.Sail boats of relief-it is time to appreciate dirt.
untitled 1Gleeful toes hide in grassto watch the day matureand retreat intothe flashing hill.
RowanTall is a man,blue brother in swirls.Come meet the siren-call.Cold is the salmon of knowledgecloaked in these dreaming arms.Oh, brother, brother in woad,pagan hands scribe romanceof october piratesand curly blonde wool.Night Clouds are lamps for wanderers.
For IsabelMerry, I should be content to die-that thou might whisper to mesome message of love.Oh, that the resonance may turn the very waves,and every syllable go perfected from thy lipsto shake mountains.Speak thou fair,let thy gentle voicemelt the iron barsand release the wild discourse of my mind.Thou shalt fill me with honey and dew,sweet and whole with your radiance;and only then can I part from this world fulfilled.What words might I utter to frame your beauty?No words yet exist that lend any justice upon your merits.So let me speak with my eyes,and from my eyes to thinethese sacred professions send;and let the silence of discoveryfill the spaces between usuntil nothing bears mysteryand all distinctions between our outlinesfade into blurs of color.