sometimes-(sometimes);
      i love you on the lips
moon garden
            paradise hills and november
and it's temple
  template of our own world of wild tales .. sometimes
sometimes twine
   sometimes silent running   sometimes engine purl
              under our dark star
     the wind rises ; blood and black lace
       the pace of our isle
              raw and in keeping
sometimes the lighthouse taps
blinking metronome and we use habits of coherence
and practicality and partnership

in some dark corners
alternatives
on another earth
seats an uninvited guest
viewing
(i feel.. sometimes)

I love it when

It was easy like a Sunday Morning,
I am yet to get out of my bed longing,
Route 66 was still buzzing and calling,
love to send you pictures of hiding sun this morning.

Endless love is when you say,
Baby, I don’t care, let’s stay,
Tracks of my tears will tell you hey,
Wait for me until I’ll take you there faraway.

Memories are made of this you know,
Being all by myself and nothing to show,
Come join the dance with me even if you don’t owe,
I’ll show you purple rain as we dance slow.

I saw a needle making love with it's self within a field of poppies, egotistical in it's savagery, swirling within a storm of love filled lies. I watched in wrapt amazement seemingly drawn to the promise of a world thought unobtained, a world only in dreams, I drank the sweet nectar of the gods as the poppies cried their tar, bringing an ****** of lies cries a loneliness that brought a beauty one could only dream. Conspiring confusion as I dove deeper into dillusion where freedom was shackled thoughts perpetually repeating until thought became obsession no matter the consequences. Alone in my thoughts, injecting more lies I silently follow further into the the desolate terms of this silent contract.

Almost;
The way he looks at her;
Why I cannot fall in love with you;
I’ll cry you a sand dune;
A cigarette’s scar;
Girls love boys;
Girls love girls;
Paranoia and emptiness – the things in which we trust;
Therapy;
The things that are not real;
My girl’s best ex;
A piano key’s symphony;
A warning for my lover;
An addict’s guide to life;
The ways I bleed now;
A permanent smile.

Sometimes I would like writings  to remain untitled.
Because somehow  it’s  unfair that a  profound feeling explained in a whole paragraph that makes my miserable heart ache in an unreasonable way to be reduced in a one-single word.