The fallen are so beautiful on the flat-line roof.
Golden hues leave me wanting to make love
in the debris, risk moon folly’s be’st,
climb your ribs on wild fingertip and tongue.
Wind upturns hard veins, they spin to face
a glass reflection facing me; there’s more
to come than playing on the dead, I sing,
thinking of your eyes in mine right now.
forget me now 
sometimes i think i would like to paint some of the images of which you write…
just this one line: “The fallen are so beautiful on the flat-line roof” conjures up a slew of images in my mind… autumn leaves falling on fallen lovers, fallen gods, fallen angels, fallen men, fallen women…
nicely detailed…
—-
you’ve so seen every thought implication here, Chico, found the core line/image/whatever .. thank you!! you’d like to paint it? i wish you would, cos sometimes it’s a cacophany of images and words all mixing up and it can get a bit … crowded and inexpressable inside … *eekLOL .. is the pub still o-pen??
Undefeated, of course. We miss you. Drink lots of tea and stay warm.
Another beautifully made mind fragment word poem thingy, with such grace and delicacy and the reading is wonderful.
—————–
sorry for such a long delay in responding to your ever-lovely and supportive comments, Paul .. i’ve had this dratted-vile cold that’s doing the rounds here and a few stressy things going on as well … but here i am, undefeated and thanking you with all my heart …
—————