At end, I lied
I am abend when we’re off drunk again
Or swimming in sincere blue oceans—gists, all of them foreign.
When in the door steps
Three of my kin, weird-eyed with essence. What’s that?
I see a serenade, trying again. Kind heart.
This story has been ruined, I run, turn, hole under a bush
Scan the ground for a moving you.
Frailings, they walk, stay uber quiet and austere at that
I, there, much older, heightened in wait
Give it a dame smiling handy and
Shrug! Do leave, I run all them off.
They say it: hang her!
Then when it’s darker, while out, I see him such
Her shining ways in the from days, her stitched up hand
Can see all
Last era says and I am more for a cure by
death, see, in contrast to those who tremble
..Or a comedy set.
Be it valet or beyond the way, they don’t say no.
Sweet laments from the infancy.
Death in reposado or cold sambuca
Guardians of my grave!
Nobody really knows my city like you
She gives me one moment of time, electric.
But when I take your hand down the aisle
Battering piano glee surrounding us
The hour is perfect
The mass is one of beauty, harmony, peonies land in me
And on your white paisley dress, autumn at the core.
-- Kirsten Chen