quieter than hushed symphonies
who wear my smile cold
sometimes blotting death on my pillowcase
and tired
this sand is not snow
he tells me kept confessions
a liar - just a hint
february spinning through my hands and hair
and children
crushed to make lips
and made for window-dressing
the moon in my teeth
i caught a peek of a savior, burst,
who he informed me
was only ink
