sonnets of a lost fawn

you,
a white wolf
moths follow you because
you
hold the moon
in your mouth,
a silver orb on your tongue,
a white glass eye;
from my lips
pour the larvae
of our letters,
( a forgotten wing,
i leave echoes of my whispers
in the dust on the backs of moths,
where my eyes are closed
in an emerald soft moment,
on amethyst tongues
veiled by moss );
you
are what dreams are made of,
your soft lilac threads and
golden twine fingertips
making my heart into
a smear of whispers;
you,
in a veil of forest fog,
i see only
your
hollow eyes and
ink spilling from your jowls;
fawn spots i carry--
craters of shadows,
lavender wounds--
a pale arrowed fawn,
where blood clots are as
violet orchids,
moons on my back,
eyes on my wings;
if you find my iris,
will you remember me,
the softer moments
and breaths--
but my echoes,
a banshee wailing fawn,
i am the fallen tree of the forest
no one hears,
my echo does not return,
it sits on mountains,
inside a soft mirage,
within a love letter
sealed with honey,
a feather,
my lashes,
( inside:
a glass eye
with poems for an iris,
a broken black ivory cameo
in the shape of a fawn,
a bottle full of
chipped glass sailboats );
you,
a white wolf,
of obsidian whispers,
indigo stain round my ankle by
your labradorite flumes,
lakes of auroras,
the spell of a new moon wolf
making
the fractures of a
porcelain heart,
sonnets of a
lost fawn,
you,
( the only wolf that feasts )