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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.
You are,
someone else,
something better.
Something worth of living and loving.

A sky free of judgement,
A land full of green.
An air of honeysuckle,  
A bite of tangerine.

A soft hum of roses, A rising  tickle of joy
A kindness without any poses,
A lover ready to deploy.
I found you,
In a cavernous room holding onto a single ember.
You were small white and so delicate, Lost in the dark.
An unwanted man, left to drink a vile concoction.
One of duplicitous bitterness and maniacal laughter.
Those were days without pause,  
All in an attempt to effect a wordless reconciliation.

Warrior
Take a knee,
You hold on,
And breathe.
You can dream in color now
Your guise,
chiseled of sprit
Will endure.
Your love,
Will replenish.
Afraid, and restless.
Cold as a stone, looking for courage underneath a facsimile.
Blind and tortured,
A feeling so ineffable,
A courage so paradoxical.

With a sliver of hope I stumble forward.
Emotions, damp and turgid.
The mournful yappings of weakness.
The good ol’ potent self doubt.

Young girl, violins,
White horses run.
A rune with your name on it,
Living at the bottom of a wishing well.
Spoken gravitas,
words only ever to be heard once.
Nothing endures forever and so it goes.
A Secret alphabet developed by two.
A voice that carries warmth, raises a smile and lives to perpetually remind us of the moment(s).

Desires queued and ready to wither.
A language derived from the stolen warmth off of my fingers.
To become the unfamiliar, familiar.
To love madly under the autumn moon,
and lose all reason.
To ingratiate the self, is a desert never to walk out of again.
This afternoon,
of soft spoken secrets.
This afternoon,
Of arms and tracing,
Stone white symmetry.

Small laughs,
under the quiet summer rain.
Burns a flame,
In my gut.
A Hopeless chorus,
bereft of prayers.
Shoot me down,
I come in peace.
In the night I am joined.
A drink summons a row of faces,
unrecognizable they come to me as penumbras.
A swirl of half crescent grins and grimaces cry out in pain.
I am ****** into a hole of submission,
here are all the allegorical creations living inside of me.
These things stand tall, bare and judging.
Laughing and watching as I fall into a bottomless grip called “inevitability".
Breathing raw, dank ideologies.
Manifesting nasty, stubborn idiosyncrasies.  
I am freed by another drink
And the pleasant reality
that sometimes moving on
means laughter.
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