Our hearts are often fields
of Amaranths bloodied
red and everlasting,
but sometimes withered and wizened,
recalling the chill of the Sargasso Sea
Crimson like a lover's razor wounds,
a petaled, precarious sharpness
between unbridled cowardice,
between unlimited affection,
Amaranta
falling in the dancing summer
your burns are volcanic obsidian,
slicing past all recalcitrance,
recalling the end of lunar warfare
If just for an hour,
I shared your hunger
in the pollen of your loving solitude.
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