She had worked five days that week,
not to mention all that needed tending to
in regard to house and children.

But now, save the soft leak
of birdsong through windows,
the house was quiet and still.

She felt a laziness
in body and mind,
and allowed it.

She found herself on the bed,
giving the woven blanket purpose
as it held her, giving her warmth.

There was no concern for
how long this moment would last,
nor for how much rest might be gained.

There was only
presence, breath,
and allowance.

This Whirlybird Backward
is falling head first,
and painballoon minder
is ready to burst,
so the Sun sets its course
'cross the way.

With darkening rhythm
well-finding its time,
and saddest professor
admitting his crime,
the edges so blurry
of which, is the night, is the day.


So turn me to stone here,
and set me the shore, dear,
that I may erode,
in a well-favored way.

i'm not here,
that's just the water,

a leftover dear,
and a fallover daughter,

the healths just a dot on my eye.

no cutting skin,
that's just a favor,

an octopus dry,
no sheet laden savor,

i want to define
this most sterile labor,

i'm the diggable pig
in its sty.

you are stranger than me,
but only
to others,
you cradle my facets
with silk

you're the waver of tone,
you deafen
and smother,
but just as they parallel
my will


you're my taunt's
favorite tease,
you're my ten millionth please,
you're my predator
unable
to ****


you're the rest
of my thoughts,
and my unhindered oughts

you're the shine,
and it's moon,


you're the still

your hair nearing my face,
I'm a jumble of nerves,
you turn and you
whisper like cats

I wonder my stance
and I backpeddle curves,
your clothes are your
skin under glass

my most favorite paralyze,
my most favorite still,

this eternity's
your hand on my arm

i love you more than life itself

i love you more than life itself

my body, mind and soul are yours

i love you more than life itself