all the birds have flown south for the winter,
looking to warm themselves in the honey-laced glow of the sun.

and i think i'll love you once you're gone because right now my bones are heavy and filled with calcium. i think i'll love you once the butterflies have burst from their crysilis and spread their wings for anyone who cares to bat an eyelash or pay attention to their spread of colors warm and cold.

and maybe i can love you once the skeletons in the closet have eased back to life and cracked their brittle bones, because even in death we owe each other.

once gaia has awaken from her slumber and brought life to a crumbling earth i can love you. and once apollo has pulled the reluctant sun across the lilac and sweet candy sky i can love you.

but i can't love you while i lay scared of the monsters under my bed with their ravenous appetite and gnashing teeth and ferocious yell. and i cannot love you while we live in fear of hades coming to steal us away in the dark of the night, ready to drag us down into our graves full of rose thorns we pluck off.

i can't love you while the canary still sings it's sweet song that reminds me of another love. while that bird as yellow as honeycomb belts out a song I cannot be real with you.

but i can love you once the birds have returned in flocks and the water lillies have bloomed and when my watered down heart feels rich again.

so hold onto to the inky night and be patient with my soul because it is worn and made of porcelin that cracks too easily and clay that others have formed.