for you.

you and that fist full of red hair,
her red hair and strands of light...
you had your palms sweat and pull;
a king would not reign with those hands.

i am sorry my eyes do not shine,
they went unlighted, never fueled.
i am sorry for lips that touched,
doors you could not open.

voices shredded on the floor:
tiles warming up under
her fire kindling low
then higher, higher.

baby birds break in air,
like springtime wronged.
so april hailed,
it's come early this year.

i saw
reddish purples and
bluish greens on
tasteless tongues.

i saw
broken lips and
broken doors:
broken and entered.

i saw
then, too much
of her in you,

and you in her.