all the poetry inside, the curtain… dropping dusty upon the frailty of my words the world, too old my thoughts, too young, too same

base of an eggshell in a portrait of painting she is pure canvas had I been a painter she would direct turpentine

The touch that spans length and difference I feel the distance that he holds captive in heart and… one reach, one touch

fallible fallen features flawless foes feel, feel, feel formulated

and in that tear, everything broke every shard of pain, every loss the losses yet to come her voice, her heart caught

She saw them fishing poles in hand, walking fro… Fingers, gnarled, crippled with the passing of age. The skin around their eyes, a cany…

there is neither peace nor dream in a day. truth spattered, canvas inundated. bubbles fluid, liquid no longer...

starlight sings silver catalyst for dreams the woosh of the window unit roars with smokey tang on my lips, I shi… shoulder to door pane, perceptions…

there is a chamber there is a heart we dream it we taste it ours, unconditionally

it was a blank page. Her hardened gaze caused no words to appear. No flourishing language to embellish the explanation.No distractions to explain the lack of written monologue. Not even...

it is a numbing a piercing of the proverbial heart with aching, dull shard a cold depth swallowing lungs contract, fluid-filled

for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we

his exit, his entrance stars in solemn shades countdown in pink orbs we, burning out suns commencing solitude