Yours is paler than grass, twig of willow.
The light wasn't helping either
Nor did that night, equilateral heart.
In lambent silver, a delicate knuckle fight
I'll touch yours, you'll touch mine
paler than grass, kindling willow.
Leave me some of your mother's tongue
And allow me in your binding Eos
So we can always undress in the dark.
Wrap me in limbs, igneous willow
Ignore the weeping in our first name
and the ashen breath of our little death pyre.
You're pale again weeping willow,
no wind now, left to squirm in the mire.
And yes, I forgot to mention the rain.
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