A Wintery Flame

Bursting. Bursting. That is what my soul does against the paper.

And I love him, but my soul can't stop bursting. The shards have pierced my skin and made me rigid and misunderstood, for under that skin lies my lungs and heart barely moving because they are entangled in my soul that takes up too much space in my body. 

I held him too tight, I suppose, against my icy spikes. 

......................A Swarm of Sparkling Bees.....................

I was born to die so I laugh at the beautiful

like it were the art of a cannon ball

consumed with the idea of diving into the sun

Some things cause tears to brim in wells;

 prisms spread the light across rolling hills

but I laugh at the beautiful

queue glass finger treasure 

it's not the time but the measure

that takes you by surprise

 so high that my mind is a watery pit of flesh

together we gather it fast so the wave rushes in

and we laugh at the beautiful

key pleasure light leisure
I smile because you make me whole