through words,
I heal my wounds
by completely exposing them

the way clouds swirl
like milk in grey tea
when it rains

In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?

Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,

Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.

My decisions grow, as moss grows. Slow, slow and unseen between the green-green of expected. My decisions grow, as moss grows. Quietly wild. Shallow threads clutched tight at the sheerness of possible- drinking light from the dark in order to thrive.

My decisions grow, as moss grows. Slow, slow and unseen. No branches, no forks, no watch-wait-and-see, just spores caught on a breeze when I need them.

"Write one sentence, the truest sentence that you know."-Hemingway

So I took his advice.

I wrote it on the walls of your slumber and
along the spines of my favorite days.
I painted it on windows,
we turned into doors,
and doors we turned into walls.
I wrote it on your sharp tongue
and all it's favorite places to explore,
the latitudes
and longitudes of a truth unraveled.

I will always love you.

the angel on my shoulder
picked up smoking,
the devil on the other
took up yoga—

they don't know
how much they have
in common.

Don't worry, spiders,
I keep house
casually.