TEEN AGES

The cold chars my cherry lips to ash gray. 
Thick rain plates every roof and lost thief.
The cosmos crystallize and beg me to pray.
Chilled gusts catalyze flowery relief.
Lemon-scented billows revive cold trees.
The roses bloom around my egg-head-stone.

How, what am I supposed to feel about the breeze?
The June water will be warmer once I'm alone.

The sting of the sun beats my bones and skin,
and this Hawaiin Tropic smell like dawn,
but I and my plot on the beach look not-so-thin.
Never mind. Eternal Summer, blaze on.
Rounds of days have rung in my head and soul, 
endless through seasons and taking their toll.