Torn From Me

May mornings turned a blue iris white with the sight of petaled plates on your stubble. By surprise they appeared as a dawn shadow, thick on a black jaw, Smelling of Millionaires against your stout chin. I blinked and sent you into my record fayer then when I needed a shot, my blood could be filled with your sweet liqueur. Spring white blossoms faded and you grew an October Ginger beard, I trimmed it and groomed it to take out with me to dinner parties and stand close to in smoky rooms. And I pictured you full blossom and evergreen, through ice bite dark days and winds from Tibor Mountain. Cruel Calder Valley beasts zipping vengeful and bitter. And as Delilah took her shears to take the strength of an Immortal so they came and took you, beard and girth. With much frivolity they laughed and took it. I see you with your sparse hair, tarred and feathered like a plucked Goose you are. They tore you from me.