Transference is inevitable.
A flower that grows in between the dead cold moss.
A small hope cradled as a warm stone.
A kindness born through some invocation,
some attempt to make sense of our place in this world.
Its a prayer, a distance seen in your eyes,
A doubt formed in the mind,
by the brief rejection of a potential lover.

We are the esculent,
made ready to be consumed by the love of another.
We are a breath, held on by the hands of a good friend.
A flame stoked,
Gently in the night.
We are, we are,
weight (significant).

This feeling,
Is a whisper crawling out me.
An echo made by a stranger underneath my skin.
A tiny yearning that bubbles up,
as  a set of continuous chortles.
My heart beats,
and I give into phantasm.

The Crimson sun that never sets,
The moon that bathes and overthrows us with all of its beauty.
The ocean breeze and it's cool attempt,
The delicate,
fleeting,
goddess silhouette.

Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.
ineffable contours, that cannot be tamed with a wordy depiction.
Like water running through my fingers,
Ephemeral, and leaving me to linger.
Caldera, my steaming  desire.
Instantiates a spy, that is ready to be set on fire.

Daughter of eve,
Carousel of dreams
You’ve drowned my angels
And left me  to die in a reverie.