untitled un-sung

Linger once or twice
Before you go
And perhaps those words,
Like liquid in your eyes,
Will fall like fat summer rain
On these arid encounters.

Too much.

My blue boy
With the child’s smile
That splits that solemn face
And leaves echoes of warm twilight;
Cardamom soft, sleepy heat
Tempered by cool nocturnal wanderings
Through places sickened by night.