Come here,
Dig deep
Your face in the grain.
I spill the salt, to stay the wound.
A memorial to pain
Remains a grave too heavy.
Solace is to every moon,
A bleeding moment
Not to dawn, too soon.

Pleasure becomes sanitized,
The salted step
Upon the ice-covered foresight
Where winter buries
Hearts so close.

A pain cleansed
By faces, where kisses last
In the sting
Of all to burn
Weeds to make the spring
Envelop crying eyes,
To the spot that hurts, the most.

I spill the rest,
Weighted in bitterness
Of flavor, running as blood
Over water,
Melting the frigidness
Of my feet
To one day, walk.