the scent of a rose
the light of a sun
the glowing from a moon
the dust from a star
the tablecloth on your table
the tree's roots cutting into the earth
a world behind a window
the rain sounding from comfort
sea salt spraying coarse sand
an aesthetic
what a bore

In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.

thus you walked down
the holy aisle, all alone
and I see, the rotten coat your
skeleton has worn for eternity
is now severed from your soul
and you are enlightened,
you fathom the complexity
that arouses in the layers of your skin

what an eloquent way to
no longer suffocate in the
impalpable sepulchre of life,
but to be salvaged again

She stood on the edge of a cliff,
looking out to a world that didn't exist-
while waiting for the winds kiss

out of your fingertips it flows
the dark blue river
to swallow the sun and
destroy the paper towns
you could never bond with
the simplicity of things,
neither with the universe
nor with yourself
so you try to let the
flood decide over
what‘s going to vanish
and what‘s going to stay