an old bunk house built for two

your love is a rain-soaked roof
sheltered and framed by the trees of the
forest you draw close to hide
the throned cabin you rest upon

you’ve been vacant of human attention for years
and it’s beginning to show
vines laces with emerald, envy creeping up your throat
choking the life and love within

your mouth opens, inviting inside
the animals seeking the bare minimum
but the mold has settled in your bones
and drives out all prospects of finding shelter

eventually your mind will rot to the point
where not even the gentle touch of the sun’s hands
outstretched in good grace
can restore the corpse of a heart that once glowed

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