edges of clouds

the crimson edges of clouds
are calling me out
as black dots of birds
are coursing across the sky

my eye
follows them south
the corners of my mouth
are dry
the last leaves are still hanging on
for life
and teetering side to side
in answer to the smallest movement of the air

i have no answers still
but nestled under this blanket
of cluttered sky
i know the sun still reigns above
and though the rose glow now
will not last long
in days to come
the mists will be burnt off

for now vermillion turquoise purple black
will colour everything and all
until the winter has it's fill
and melts in awe

what is carved in this tree

all of these names there are carved in this tree
how many of them are about you
and somebody
does it meant i can't trust your kiss
does it mean a lot more because you know
what you now want to feel
because so many others taught you
that genuine shivers cost a lot more
than what is carved in this tree

and on the golf course
when the sprinklers go on automatically
and you are sat in the buff
on your sleeping bag
waiting for me
and the genuine shivers cost a lot more
than what is carved in this tree