If  by your side I cannot find solace
If in your arms I cannot rest my case
If in your embrace I do not feel at home
If in your eyes I cannot reveal my true form
Then where else do I belong?

Poetry is a poets work
in clandestine chemistry
no ethics exist there
other than poethics!

i love how you can make me feel high
like a child's balloon, which floated out of her hand
and into the air, soaring
                                            higher
             ­                                           
                                                          and higher

                                                         ­           and even higher

until it reaches a simple tree branch and

pop

and then the balloon begins to tumble down
onto a innocent driver who's on their way to work
who's windshield the now deflated balloon lands on
when they swerve to not crash into the ongoing traffic ahead of them
now that an object is blocking their view
and they drive straight into a tree,
and their head bangs off the the car's dashboard
since a worker who inspected the car's model
did not realize that the airbags did not deploy
and they are dead,
all because of a balloon
which a careless child let slip out of their hand.