The Seven Regrets of Peter

Run to catch your own sun, and never mine.
Run to make me forget what you looked like, before ourselves.
Run further south,
I forgot you and my dreams sat on a plane to Indonesia.
Mary gave away eyes and bread for the occident.

Sand comes along,
a sword and a shield holds a saint's body.

Reject me, bodily bite from the blackest berry.
The blackest berry holds the prize.

Forgive Luke, forgive the Gospel as I don't want to seek for gold inside our native mountain.
But wherever you're going Mary's eyes swim in sequins.

I assumed differently.
Three more nights faced the moon.
Bollywood nights, and blood melts with the river.

Problems, Choices.

With drops of sarcasm from me, you made a choice.
A wonderful choice that elevates you.
You looked from your shoulders and down, I don't need to go any further.
Your blood is rather different, the ground can stomach different behaviors and you haven't been on this other side.
Oh well, your voice as a feather, sang repeatedly.

I'm smart, I swayed the wings and knock the tails out of my system.

We're on a sun that sways with us, the choices you made have made me shiver.
Stay with me.
Don't shake hands with this town.
Let's leave.

Tomorrow I can sense a sky with orange clouds.

A Tooth From Mozart's Mouth

"Whatever makes us come closer."

You swore on Peter's grave.
I didn't think lust was at my door, I found disappointment.

I've been searching
through seas,
beyond and silver.

Just why and where?

Whilst my eyes provide miracles,
my heart lacks of wonder.

I'm not close, far.
You're laughing, holding Mozart's jaw.
A dim lamp reflects the shadow of Peter's eyes.

5:15.


You swore again.

Dove in Snow

You've been confused, I've been confused.
With a white thread.

. . .

There seems to be less snow today.
Than.
yesterday.
(You didn't move, you took a glance outside and forgot to breathe.)

You can't reach the window,
I see a dove outside
or the shape of a dove.
If you breathe
(don't breathe)
you'll miss it.

The dove has spoken:
"Linda's ornaments look dark grey from the outside."

I knew there that the dove knew more of ourselves than we will ever know.

Holding hands with January, they waved at us.
The weather was unbearable.

I just didn't care.
I opened the door and poured white water so that the snow would melt.

It echoed.

Bird of Love

Like a bird of love.
She finds water in the desert.

I don't pay attention to quiters.
With a bind she loads a gun again
and hides it as she recognizes the door that leads to the garden.

Please know that there have been secrets, slaves involved.

Native Love

Walk further.
It is sad to see the vineyard has lost a son,
but a rose is risen at your name, at the top of the lips of a dove.
Never forgets.

------------------------------------------------------------------

She dies of love.

An eagle sends chills down her spine.

I have died there
before her and on the roughest surface
but see-through.
In front of the Lord.
Again see-through.

I think she cries in a yellow river.
South, where she doesn't belong.

I'd be lying if I say I can see you.
Where are you?

Upon your rivers, Blackfoot
she has washed her clothes.

A native hand.

The mountain, and sacred beads left there.
All in all, to reach you.

There by the fire I hinted:
"It's up to you."