Lost Flowers

My red blossom bruises grow wild.
A slice of skin runs dark.
Yet do these liquid secrets
Shower with a bouquet of love?
As I build my summer from a dry, cracked will.
Will this secret song here on my tongue
Pronounce love,
Or tell of a dark sound?
Summer sister lost from staggering promises,
Summer brother fades from heaven’s view.
Yet do my dirty glasses
Pour the juices of friendship?