We drove into the Costco carpark.

Tastes like gratitude, smells like sweetness
The lying eye of nostalgia, I know he doesn't mean it.

My life is green with patches if dryness, but it's okay. At times my crops may be dry around the edges or I will be thirsty from the labours of watering and pruning.

There will always be gnats and rocks that lie in the dirt.
Some days I will bleed and be bitten, others I will miss, misplace and mistake the common trials
Believing it to be my demise,
Some days it might have been
And one day it will be.

I know that common is full of cracks where unknown creatures crawl and where also blessings dribble and pour.

Slow batted eyelids
Breaths subtracting by the second
Core stern and steady
Covering of what is
You don’t know what’s inside
But I wish that you did,
Though I will never tell you
Or show you what’s within.
Looking into an eye
An eye of confusion
Curated and made to distort
My fault you can’t read me,
Can’t tell what I want.
Because of your terrors
I paint nonchalance,
No more I can handle
I stand in fear
leave with my thoughts.
Though love still endures
I feel finished and done
I pray dear oh Lord
Make real the nonchalance.

The barber of truth.
Truth cuts and cleans,
separates good from bad, decides what suits and what looks bad.
Truth grooms and preens,
truth reveals what's real.
Truth is loved and hated
Truth is simply fated.

Things are strange.
Call life vain, wild and confusing.
We are born with choice, grow up to decide and sway with the impact of emotion.
You develop an idea, share it, make it real, then become so consumed with it that it replaces what we hold close to our heart.
I overthink things at night, I fight with thoughts and cry, waking up to a body battered and bruised by my mind.
They are looking at me, they see me all the time but I hope they know what I'm not trying to hide.
Think about your raw state, think of the choices you make,
do they all really mean anything?
Are they impacting and important, are they for your benefit and only yours, are they dependent on a Higher Source or are they as unknown as a conversation about the crease in my eyelid?

As honey billows from a hive
Words satisfy my mind
The sweetest dew breathed out of mouths
Mists my skin in Eros
My heat rises and bubbles the molasses in my head
Slow hands stir its thick syrup and enjoys its warmth and feel
Caressing down my cheeks
On my tongue and into my lips
harmony pleases my inner itch

The way the sun bounced off my hair was a prayer
The subtle glimmer off my skin was not sin
The ebony cast of my eye was no lie
The loving warmth of my cheek was simply meek
For he spoke it and it came to be.

The smell of mop soap
Your subtle knit brown coat
The sounds of self comfort in the pounding notes.

I’ve been warned of love always and that he cannot see
I’ve been told that he is deceptive and never bares what is real
Many shout that it is forever but I do not see the endless ring
I pray thee uncovers hope and help me believe.

I’m tired
I want to never wake up
My Mind Is gone
Body mangled
Love lost
I am a carcass on life support

When you say it as it is
Unadulterated by what has been
The queer flavour is enriched and
Many layers come to fruit

No option of death but rejecting the choice to live
Slumber is closest to my end I can be.
Please help me to believe
I don’t know if you do anymore
Where I am is unknown to me
I can’t hear, can’t see, can’t perceive you
Yet I want to be lead
I pray you find me and awaken us from our sleep

Karmic