Aurorasaurus Rex

How could I not want you - your beauty still and spare as a secret glacial lake. I, who still feel the dirt's choke from another lifetime, heard you telling me to drink. These useless hands that let both dust and water slip between them rise again and again to lips dried brown as figs.

I'm embittered beyond measure that Neil Gaiman is, after all, just another predatory, narcissistic boomer. How I used to adore him - and how diminished he has become in my eyes.

With the touch you casually welcomed I pluck stray autumn treasure reclaimed by March winds and half-hidden in hair still dark as tents of Kedar Pine boughs by my window sway in murmuring canticles you were too wise to sing While I like a blinded dove or blossoming henna still seek out the warmth of your false spring