-
World gonna change, crafting countless engagements with destiny.
-
me,
i don't know what plant I am,
-
The Grief of Mock Hades is Quietism Echoing loudly, "what distortion?"
-
-
the gift of worthy sleeping clouds, dreams rage toward weakness rare.
-
-
you sing me of moon's reflection on ocean waves,
-
a spirit so broken,
they couldn’t even bear it up
-
shifting resting places, out of season sun matters not, to none.
-
Pollution, rational carnivores understand nothing of puddle-jumping.
-
-
puzzled realism, born deliberation.
-
Smitten by quiet as god waves quite gently her great wounded finger-clouds.
-
-
I wonder how subdued lights of longing can compel a naked passage of
-
Coil of fascination, love how you yourself wear color in your iris.
-
yield not from passion’s deep crucial glow, must flash to fade, need fervor cry out “go”?
-
we are the fall, we are the places & planes. we are the stairs, we are the landings.
-
Some paths sing their silence, like hand-raised hems. Some eyes peer out at jewelers' appraisal peering in, gems.
-
-
-
-
underground ocean, borrowed words of pedaled care, wasted egos of grace.
-
Kinda like reading entrails before a battle, I suppose. Just using poetry to process stuff and will look back someday.
-
Deathbed blinking, Our eyes freely lock in their always-warm embrace,
-
Beyond purgation Desire is no less than the most love.
-
soft and peerless these fingers dove, that wrestle loss in deepest love.
-
-
who can enjoy fondness by grasping? Idol of Bound energy,
-
reacehd laughter of your eyes,
-
Love among ancient ruins whose real estate index finger taps its history book refrain like
-
Oh, lips,
staring like the coming of lavender,
-
days turned to nights of no prayer dreams.
-
to very deep and moving tribute, to tempest hearts, I must salute.
-
First wounds of words of four winds, wrapped like pillows of curtains lightly covering a cascading house of mirrors.
|