I am captivated by a thought of old
Yeller in the streets of Madagascar.
Shot me dead indeed for standing up
to digs of my deeds done wrong.

But what of his Sister, and did he miss her
for fiesta on Friday last~Until a droopy~eyed mistress crooned a ****~a~doodle~doo straight against the face of death.

They loved Prima, come subtle still life into the night.  Brought Passion'd brink of tears, thrown forlorn wisping shutter to my skin and I am Thought.. thinking I migh'nt be lost to soon to this moment mi'amour.

Charging hunted into the streets, taken by day or by night. Overrated artform of statuesque mystique, compendium of gods have struck me mortal and I am Death...dying unto pleasures infinitum.

Quell into question the material mourning, noon and night. Antidote to antithesis is Imagination...imagining everything in nothingness all at once...banging out existence, through the vacuum...all the way to Madagascar.

Take my place, take my bullet for me on the other end of old Yeller and I will take your end on the other side... of You ...being Me.

I'm yet done finding Me
The search wades through Eternity
Luckily,  I've got your number
Exact coordinates and geometry
Is it the symmetry or dimensionality
that makes the majik seem just right?

In our little corner, the whirling dervish dance makes us 4th, including the Sun.
If we claim a Solar System, why not include the Sun, after all our daze have come.

From what we collectively perceive, the four dimensions let it be. Wrapping up a poignant point~pyramid mythology.

This subject being deep and vast, I'd prefer to leave it where it's at. Doesn't mean I won't come back...remember,  I've got your *number.

I am moving with the wind
at a pace you cannot keep up with.
Sailing free, no holding back now.
I'm soaring,
high above the clouds and earth and destruction of the heart.
I'm escaping on these wings
and there is nothing you can do
to hold my feet against the ground...
I am flying
higher and higher and higher.

In my dreams,
I write poetry on her skin.
The pen moves gently and with compassion.
Words of love join hands,
waltzing across
her collarbones
   her waist
      her hips
covering her entirely.
I take my time, marking her arms with lyrics of adoration to cover
scars of self hatred.
"You are so beautiful."
She cries.
"This is beautiful."
I smile.
*"Oh, my love... the best have yet to be written."

You’re so beautiful to me
No matter what it is you see

Imaginary flaws and scars all too real
Make you cry and cut to try and feel

Nothing makes the pain go
And everything seems to make it grow

Left alone when you needed a friend
You tried to make your whole life end

They found you there upon death’s door
Laying, bleeding, on the floor

Then flashing lights and sirens’ wail
Told the world your dreary tale

You’re forced to verbalize, to tell
To speak about your private hell

Been taking the hard path all along
I know it’s hard but you’re so strong

But I can hold you; let you cry
‘Til every single tear is dry

And on that day is when you’ll see
That you’re beautiful not just to me

This is a daily reminder
That he doesn't love you
Like he used too,
And he can fall asleep
Under the shining stars
Without once imagining your smile,
And he can drive around
At 4am
And you wouldn't even come to mind,
And he can lay in the bed
You used to lay in
And forget all about your shape,
And he can dream of things
That actually matter
Rather than your stupid apologies
And I miss you's.
This is a daily reminder
That he doesn't love you anymore
And he never will.