Her face opens a wound

it rubs itself deeper.

I was a corpse walking

until I smelled her scent.

The breeze is a language

that makes my bright cold orbs

bleed.  The removed world

of past loves gone

makes the flowers move.

Around my soul

I play the dizzy animal.

In the gardens of lavish rot

I am the watermelon.

Coins land in a fountain

far from me.

The marble sneezes.

The sky froze

open wide.  I want

the honey in the center

of the hive.