Tyler

Poem of unfufilled lovers.

And though we stained our shirts with wine
we made no love among the pines
A crouching pan upon us spied
pretty flesh yet joy denied
You climbed a branch, I watched, defeated
up the tree as you retreated
I sat alone among the pines
And stained my teeth with purple wine

A bird may chirp and sing and squawk
But it will never learn to talk
I sit alone
I throw my stones

A shell before me on the needles
Creeps around like charcoal beetles
It dies and slowly rots to sand
And so he’ll never be a man
He’ll leave me here up in my birch
So I’ll take up another search.