If I were ever to write
A note upon suicide,
It would be addressed to you --
the only man to ever comprehend
the sequence of thought in my
complex organization of
Gray Matter --

In genderless solitude
My heart exhales the scent
of new asphalt and fresh paint.
If only I could become
Recreated:
if under the scraped knees
was the lifeblood of my
Affection,

I concede my love for you,
without regret.
I bleed my own
worth,
because it means nothing
to me
without you.
My very best friend you
Have Always Been
and will remain,
the compass by which

I now understand there will be
A Day
when the world turns in
Our Favor.
When that moment comes,
how changed by the world
Will We Be?
You were affectionate
Before
when the globe aligned in

Did you know, my love
that snow covered
Strawberries
taste better?
That unrequited love
is Victimless and
Blameless?
That the cold of
Winter
brings more life than
the Humid days of

It is pale pink
(a mixture of sanguine red,
blistering enough to
deaden the flesh to touch,
and the white petals of
Daisies, so close to human
Innocence)
Combined on my brush

A life on autopilot
Memories misused and forgotten
Left to die in a gutter
Somewhere outside
New Mexico.
A feeling like a ciggarette
Half-smoked
Used-up
Abandoned somewhere in
the road

You would have been loved
Like a desert flower
Prickly and thorned,
Your music a single note
Drifting on the waters of
Some eternal ocean.
A siren song never silenced
By the hands of any man

The children will never be
Ours.
We will never fight our battles
Together,
Side by side as Partners -
And equals.
The tree will always bear fruit -
But it will eternally be
Bitter.

Forgotten are the dreams
Of the days we have lived
Before.
Dying like last week's roses.
We have become cooler now
Leaving behind happy
Moments
For a taste of a bitter future
Unwanted.

You are deaf to not hear
The firing of a thousand cannons
Between our hearts.
You are a solitary creature
Illuminated by desire and hunger
For affection.
It is your beacon
Your siren song

People around here
Tend to have canabalistic
Ways, we are
Strictly carniverous.
It's a trait southern men
Tend to carry.
They chew up our bloody
Bones
and spit them out
Like bile

I saw you swimming beneath
The lucidity of my broken
Skin
Like a pale fish, fins of
Desperation
I watched you dive deeper
Into the pool
With colors all around you
Like sharp knives

You have too many
thorns
that rip my flesh
As I reach for you.
Your petals seem so soft
And delicate
Amongst the cruelty of
your world.
You sit, so sad, amid
The tangle of
Spiny protection

I remember your palms, soft like
Silk
As we held hands, innocence
Blooming between us like
Pale Flowers.
Your ironic smile, crooked and
Slighty Reluctant.
I recall running my fingers through