we met with lemon eyes 

and a good taste for men

she let me in, with a crooked grin.

   whereas she eats, the birds sing 

lullabies that send her off to sleep.

i can remember the first time she

called, i had just made tea

and rubbed honey all over my 

front door. 

from a warm hue- something 

between golden yellow and 

a lack of sleep, her beauty ate 

the atmosphere of the room 

and proved to us that time 

could melt, with the right kind 

of Jaded silk. 

if you let your tears water

years of no 

growth, Wednesdays turn 

to silk and my mind's ready

to be milked. giving up

on yourself, where your beauty

meets the eye.  beyond many

scraped knees and visions 

of the milky sky, there is

nowhere to begin. i can 

feel it more so in my skin.