bruises in every color of the rainbow.

I would not be so opposed
that one room in my home
smell of tomato basil
and gardenia.
a forest of ferns in the corner
circulate life fluid
like you and
I.
And behind curtains you will learn
my body breathes like moss
that got up to walk
away from the mess they made and
the endless trials to silence
the sonorous air.
But I've slept through televisons turned up, beaten brothers, moaning, thown clocks and divorces. You'd think they'd care.
And I know you do - quiet even to the touch, you
clean up every speck of dust that might fall.

People still die in their garages and i have dreams of
spines in pieces that resemble what kind of world
we live in.
whatever piece you want, really. the corner piece,
the one with the most frosting, the one with half my name.
I'll just have some icecream, and sure, a fork is fine
that spoon is too silver for my liking
anyway.

In every perfect part, the way you walk,
a diamonds eye, is the dark rose of why our desires
materialize in our hands.
you picked it, that flower.
It used to be white, like universal truths
that are all
made up.