My pain can't be measured

Within the space between your

Thumb and index fingers .

Your embrace is a

Warm scented grave ,

Where lemon trees have

Monkey eyed children

Climbing and singing.

You feed them your

wasted tea,

Illuminate them to a yellow

Found only in sea.

I salivate on the

Solitude you enjoy ,

Knitting my loneliness

Into the wing of an eagle.

You wrap blanket over baby wipes,

Feed tulips a fat spoon of honey,

And makes  the sky carry

Two small black moons.

You call me a knife,

Perfectly knowing

am only good enough

to cut  ribbons and butter,

Not throats and hearts.

You murder my marine life.

You scatter me like seeds

Over the rocks of a beach,

And tell me to grow.

You guide the roots:

But am a desert.

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