Fields

As my place quickly falls apart, I begin to raise questions:

How many truth lies
in what I was taught?
Which of the two sides is the side that's self-praised?

Where do I find my courage?
that, which overflows in them, overflows in you.

You say "run", but "How do I back up my senses?"

William's Widow is shorthanded, but proper for the weather, for I'm working on myself, on you, on life. Now it's safe to say they themselves are a blaspheme.
(Low-graded to bigger eyes, when they reach the sky with their hands.)

To beautify your nickel ocean, I can slip through the stream and darkness.
Blear-eyed, as the northman runs an ax through black wood, and as the ladies of the house bleach their misty eyes with miracles and wonders, the truth that whispers "the unknowable underlines through thick skin", if, and only 'if', you steadily cough embedded against melancholy candles and shoulders that need to be risen. Wind up and taste, half-heartedly. Unto my hands, quiet myrrh, coughed up to the shoulders, forever.

Sun, Follow.

You were interesting.

I was wading in and out.

I happened to embrace cheesy music that day, not at my best.
What's with the weather that helps me figure out things better?

For a while I got lost,
there, in the sun.

My hands shook, but you nimbled your fingers correctly.
I remember, as if I had lost you back there, in the overbearing sun.

But the cold finds its way again.
Upfront like a soldier.

You are interesting today, for me.
As I begin to figure you out.

You leave the door ajar to mock them. I follow.

Untitled 3

Dearest friend:

I am glad to see you have found happiness,
I have yet to achieve it.

I can now accept you were bound to leave for the best.

In this bright blue days know that your food will always be my favorite.

All in all, understand that today is not my day in the sun.
But maybe I'll be next.

We can hope together.

Salt-Of-Lemon

Salt-of-Lemon throws petals everywhere.

"Don't step on the petals, honey."

My hands are tied but you can loosen the bind.

With saliva, as the birds would.

-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'

You can throw petals at this birds but they're choosing to swallow rocks.

And you were careful unwrapping your presents. What did you find?

"I have missed you."

This are days in which we're making dangerous choices.

You were walking as if rain was falling.

As if the birds were no longer there.

As if the

(don't)

word

was never

(don't)

uttered.

A miscarriage of the soul.

As your collarbone is leaking from your marrow

I said "It's not fair."

But what's that? I am hugging air when you lack of it.

I'm saving the rocks, you were once here but who knows what will happen.

The day cried: "Please stay in deep focus, yet sightless."

But Ginger Is.

Almost scary.

You jump out of the water, to catch and swing me around.

This is a trick for balmy eyes, as I see cocktails that carry the word of

fake wisdom that mingles with the chords every once in a while.

I am knocking on wood when the past brings itself over.
But I know my past, Lavander.

And up here I can smell your intentions made of honey at the tip of your star.

But Ginger is moving my heart today and forever, easily just by saying

'I'm here.'

So, Lavander, tell your children I say:

"the weather is not improving, rather my senses are."

After all, you were almost scary.

Today I Don't

Today I don't know many things
such as

how much butter should I spread on this bread?
what makes a man cry?
how come
with eyes
you're still not able to see?

Today I don't need to say 'thank you' when leaves fall.
Today I'm not lesser of a human for seeking possibilities in your eyes.

I don't know many things.

"Why do old women cry?"

Today the world lives the same as I did, as I will.
I am not asking why my eyes are closed today.

I find you to be exactly the same as me.
Seven things I know, for one that I don't.

I know today I opened my eyes
to find I could see the world inside of yours.