tears become my own personal waterfall

drops turn into rushing currents

of the mississippi

i’m the only one here

the birds may visit in the morning

and the tadpoles are too little

to engulf me

human connection isn’t here

the boats pass harbors

leaving me the most still of ponds...

so, who’s going to die today?

because parts of me do each evening

cells rebirthing just to lose life

the life of moribund existence...

my worst fear is dying alone

for no one taught me embracement

abandonment of touch

yet, in your arms, i found my home

where death consumes us both...

the list would never end

almost like the concept of space

not only in our galaxy but out in the universe

where expansion is expanding

my love for you is absorbed by the unending, the universe we claim to know

but really only I know the true way to your constellation

even if you are moons aways

light years cannot distance us, for you

bright luminous among the others

proceeding the quality of polari...

i’m tired of the light

let me soak in the darkness

that’s a galaxy away

or a tilt from evolving

into the eternal nighttime

that cures my sunshine forced mind

inflicted on by the star

who secretly wishes for clair de lune...

_It was a quiet morning, the town covered over by with darkness and at ease in bed._

Everyone asleep, the alarm clock yet to ring read 3 am.

The moon on schedule, casted a hollow glow, the witching hour has began.

(Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury)...

inundate me until I’m full

of your love

don’t let it wash away

in the floods...

the wind doesn’t get the hint

stop being pushy with me

& the unnecessary treatment

for no one wants you here

even the squeaky dock

being a poorly built pier

for you are annoying

like the men in my dm’s

who don’t understand

my hatred for the wind

as nature bound i am

i don’t like ur pressure...

don’t think about the movie you watched last night

nor listen to the soundtrack on repeat

the film becomes part of who you are for the remainder of the week...

on display

in terrarium of moss

and artillery fern

the last garlic snail

never to be spotted

just a speck of russet

is sealed

and completely forgotton...