[wuthering heights (under) a sheltering sky]

felt

serpentines 

daylily in my mouth
roses, blouses 
swirling sin

and those, your starfishes
fingertipped my bones

felt

(foresee ourselves alone?)

metal petals
sweet raining stones

press your finger on my lips, my skin
my lips will search
yours

must ask the gods to turn those lights out

silence
rain
white carnation
they painted us the night in moaning mills
and we shall never be forgiven
unless we foresee ourselves
in bravery

we will?