clocks & pearls

clocks and pearls do not make goodness

nor do excuses fashioned of white butterflies

produce love in the moistness of early dew

“fourth,” says the flower to the calloused rain

“never third,” despite the thirsty august sun

which takes death from the breathing desert


false is not the feeling first felt in the sound

carrying kisses dissected by reckless thought

foolish are the curiosities of a yellow dove

in a flight clipped by the wings of unpromises

muttered between a lonely fellows swollen lips

teeth chipped from doubts of absolutes and sums


intentions marred by begging thorns of selfishness

carving bliss into the burning tree of too lates

borrowing lies and lending them to the unmarked truth

anchoring the only doorway holding life in loves palm

gravity disintegrates into ocean gusts erasing behind

as the young flower sways into the halo of pretty moons


do you believe in always? says the flower

someday.  says the moon


One thought on “clocks & pearls

  1. Pingback: clocks & pearls | Heroin Diaries


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