Pink Bullets

I was just bony hands of cold as a winter pole
you held a warm stone out new flowing blood to hold
oh what a contrast you were
to the brutes in the halls
my timid young fingers held a decent animal.
Over the ramparts you tossed
the scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
tied to a brick
sweet as a song
the years have been short but the days were long.
Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass
we fell in a field it seems now a thousand summers passed
when our kite lines first crossed
we tied them into knots
and to finally fly apart
we had to cut them off.
Since then it’s been a book you read in reverse
so you understand less as the pages turn
or a movie so crass
and awkardly cast
that even I could be the star.
I don’t look back much as a rule
and all this way before murder was cool
but your memory is here and I’d like it to stay
warm light on a winters day.
Over the ramparts you tossed
the scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
tied to a brick
sweet as a song
the years have seemed short but the days go slowly by two loose kites falling from the sky
drawn to the ground and an end to flight.