lost love sonnet, facebook poem #32
Mountain men used to carry lives on their backs,
photography collages of typewriters and coffee.
Shes a lumberjack wearing nothing but panties,
with a boring family she wages insect attacks,
warning that death is the heaviest tax.
Pictures of pink dresses slide into her memory
a fathers outstretched hands, to lift and carry
over the thorns and brambles of divorce facts.
His lips are stained red like a garden rose,
his love a radio signal from light years away.
His heart is a glass moon filled with neon woes,
his flesh is bark, and bee stings, and clay.
If he could sing he would sing to the groves
of trees hes planted since walking away.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 45 | Spring 2015