As the last light of day trickles from the sky; the heart's first rose is never forgotten -- and like your smile is deeper than all seas.
Here, we will etch our names into the ancient pines. I'll guess you for a star, however far. Out of wandering night we will burn desire with a kiss, like this. I will hold your heart in mine, and listen closely to the song of its rhyme.
You are the brightest beautiful, the softest song which the rain sings on all my nights, my morning light.
a time will come when our faces will be sagging faces. the world pollocked onto our retinas, spines like bent straws, our hacksaw minds shot into oblivion by the gods of time. the burning bush of youth now settling its flame.
my mind is a torn and stunted page out of the book of destruction. I cannot tell left from right down these narrow white halls -- mostly do to some crippling anxiety.
and the woman down at the desk asks me what am I doing with my life. yes what am I doing with my life? yesterday my hair turned white. yesterday the acv did not work. yesterday I washed the dog. yesterday I laughed in sober moments and flicked a roach off of a glass window.
but I thought about how different all things could've...
but it's a shy poem. and sometimes for it to arrive to me...
I have to forget about it. I have to minimize the importance of it, treat it like a tricky whore, hang it out to dry like bad love, drink it down bare throated, tease the gut of it, hit the keys as if I am taking a chainsaw to the limbs of the bastard.
I have to do this because sometimes that is the only way.