Pink Bullets

I was just bony hands, as cold as a winter pole

You held a warm stone out new flowing blood to hold

Oh what a contrast you were

To the brutes in the halls

My timid young fingers held a decent animal.

Over the ramparts you tossed

The scent of your skin and some foreign flowers

Tied to a brick

Sweet as a song

The years had been short, but the days were long.

Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass

We fell in a field; it seems now a thousand summers passed

When our kite lines first crossed

We tied them into knots

And to finally fly apart

We had to cut them off.

Since then, it's been a book; you read in reverse

So you understand less as the pages turn

Or a movie so crass

And awkwardly cast

That even I could be the star.

I don't look back much, as a rule

And all this, way before murder was cruel

But your memory is here and I'd like it to stay

Warm light on winters day.

Over the ramparts you tossed

The scent of your skin and some foreign flowers

Tied to a brick

Sweet as a song

The years, they seem to be short but the days go slowly by

Two loose kites falling from the sky

Drawn to the ground and an end to flight.