What we think it should be
or what we think that we see
is not necessarily
the whole thing.

I,
who have conquered fears
melt at the touch of an infants hand.

There should be a steward's inquiry
as to why we
see only a part of the picture,

I put it down to a slow puncture
where it's my eyes that lose a bit
of it
whatever it might be.

But to take things in your stride
you've got to wear strong shoes
and not lose sight of your goal.

Sadly
my modus operandi is to let sleeping dogs lie
while I sit quietly in the chair.

and if you've been there
where the air is cracked
and lightning strikes
you'll know nobody likes
talking about it.

Looking inwards at deeper reflections
shows me more imperfections
and I'm not sure
that's good for me.

But things will be as we see and
not in the order we see them.

After the final text
what comes next?
is there ***
in the afterlife? (asking for a friend)
is the end really the end?
(asking for another friend)

Is there doner kebab?
could it be that fab?
it'd be nice if heaven served
curry and rice.

But I'm in no hurry
to find out about
that.

But now we can communicate.
I am not sure what cause this sort of block.
Under normal circumstances I suppose it's human.
To access so much of ourselves mentally.
Yet physically remain mute.
An attempt to be funny. Charismatic.
To yearn the manifestation of being represented such as a memory.
For some it's easy. It becomes culture.
Ignoring this association of fear.
Although slight. We begin to judge ourselves.
In fight beyond a couple of seconds that leads to bliss.
The things that have yet developed.
The possibility that things may not.
But definitely something is there. Reflected from the light of eyes.
Self doubt in light of holding back.
Yet we've evolved.
We've evolved into a splitting image of what we adorn.
The critique of what eyes see & what ears have heard.
We've thought in different ways of what binds.
Now we communicate.
To better service our needs, our wants.
We've binged them all.
Knowing all of our favorite parts, to speak hesitantly about the bad.
We recite them only in private.
Ignoring the kick backs and *** lucks that begin with pleasure.
It begins with the closed culture of what feels foreign
to no longer recite in mental.
Now we communicate

The first word that comes to mind is infatuation.
We connect.
Plan and simple.
It's romantic type notion.
I admit I've tried to forget.
Yet the more I recall.
The more I acknowledge that what I felt and feel as true.
I look forward to find myself looking right at you.
I look left to find myself right back at the same circumstance.
Nothing fills my mind.
My time quite like you do.
I thought selfconsciously soon I'll forget.
But the more I try, the more I find myself torn.
I do the exact opposite.
It's not at all intrusive.
In fact I welcome it.
From time to time.
I've allowed complete and utter surrender.
As it's the only time I see you.
Your smile.
Your insight to aspiration.
I've pushed you to where I've always seen you.
And physically it's killing me.
Your well being is all I think about.
The time it took to admit time is but a stepping stone.
And we but mere moments.
I tell myself time and time again
Let go.
But the only thing missing is validity.
Moderation competes with repetition.
I can only distract myself so long until your thought arrives.
Never to leave;
A pattern expressed in pure emotion.
A scar left unhealed.
Out of the sincerity left undone.
My heart ponders.
And for a breif second I am happy.
Perhaps happier than I have ever been.
A familiar song that hoops and hollers down a familiar street.
A familiar face in an unfamiliar place.
Rationally you've revealed a part of me that I never wanted to let go.
The possibility of what if.
A glimpse of an familiar face.
If only in thought.
The memory of exploring an unknown place and loving every minute of it

I love the words you speak
For they reinforce the ideal in which hands speak.
A warmth that can't be heard, only felt.
A bonfire released in a cylinder.
The crackling of dopamine like wood.
Branches that provide warmth in times you aren't around.
The times dawn can be found in the palm of our hands.
The waking of primal urge where words do no justice.
It is there I find you.
Each crackle, every ash of residue where we've rested.
For you are the fire lit in body.
The cylinder that keeps me warm.
No matter how far away you are I melt in thought.
Urging to move closer.
Alas you welcome it.
Open flames that lash out without regard where it touches.
Our love is one of eternal scaring.
The wind lifting each flame higher.
The preference of action over word.
The concrete stained, scared.
Our warmth attracts the attention of the sky.
In brief hesitation we overheat.
Knowing only to collapse.
This is what it feels to kiss every word that slips through your lips.
In eternal heat.
A ring that burns in depth.
A sign that we were forever here.
I am drained.
The sap and moisture comes to a boil.
I am forever spoiled.
Forever yours.
Alas I welcome it.
The residue of what we've become.
A bridge of me, given to you.
Stacked and piled high.
A match thrown in need.
Without fear we provide each other in eternal warmth.
The sky borrows our heat.
This cylinder that can no longer contain this fire.
Distributed as red orange.
The look exchanged eye to eye.
The beginning and end of all we'd ever know.
The smoke covers as clouds.
I am reminded every time I look up

I suppose the best part of it all
Was that I fell out of my shoes.
Where most would be embarrassed.
In a strange twist I felt a calm peace.
I had nothing to hide,
Outside of the fact that I was falling.
Fall fast I did.
The most beautiful of facts, pleasing to the ear drum of desire.
The harmony of her kicking my chair.
Me falling flat against the ground.
A beautiful sound echoes about in memory.
A short in-flight movie of me falling back into one of the biggest smiles I've ever seen.
House shoes flying through the air.
I assume that I wasted too much time.
So she took matters into her own hand.
Well foot at least.
My inspiration