Air tight

six pentacles 
little silver coins 
you crash on my heartstrings
like bristle thistles 
stuck in between silk eyelashes 
i love to lick the hole clean
with daring nibbles on cheeks 
and on ankles
I am not going to be bothered 
with exaggerated nostalgia 
rotting my ripe core
making me soft and easy
smashing tomatoes 
for the spring solstice arrival 
when i will remember 
my past ways 
I will try not to mourn
I will never return 
always looking behind
to see if the green eyes
and the setting sun are still waiting

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