it's 2 am and i'm pricking myself with ancient humiliations

april, lilac-breathed
settles like balm
onto freshly broken skin

wounds left by happiness
as she swallowed like a forgotten flower
into the tongue of the night.

moonsets at bedsides
voluptuous bodies 
of uninvited clouds
locking skies within their lips.

fields of forgotten flowers.

my, the suffering we endure for the truths we tell and the lies we don't.