my hands shake when sunlight hits their stony surface
my heart picks up as if I ran away
away into the dust which settles
on these rusted empty kettles,
kettles that once brewed water
to garden a flower, called
you.

listen -
to your voice;
many run through your head
but don't you know how impenetrable you are?

getting there may be walking through fire, hot coals,
getting there may need your two favourite things taken away,
getting there may be harder than anything, anything,
and you may want to do anything but get there.

but take it from me,
it is paradise here,
and getting here feels so worth it.

Here we go again

through paradise

with scorching sun and heavy storms

and crocodiles and butterflies;

starlight and clouds

and you and me and nothing.

she is on a plane now.
the void you've left is now filled with memory:

I think about when we met, out there in the cold,
walking in circles beside each other.
I was trying to be brave but you spoke first.
"Hello."
And then you looked at me and smiled
and my heart imploded.

there is no purgatory in regret
only to drink from the Lethe and forget