Born into dawns spark
of suspicion .
Following faiths track
to eternity.
Questioning the rails
I traipse .

She knows the clouds
breath
crashes in the rocks
refrain .
Yet she fights for the
equality of senses .

We meet at the summit
of a lonely dreamscape ,
with flowers and nymphs
beautiful and armorous .

At the trees spire
we found meaning
as treasonous
blossoms return .
Dripping from loves
estotic comeback
nectar running down
her leg .

While her ballad is
written on ancient winds .
Sung as tragic owls
slip the spires
and wander the
broken fields .

While I lay dying
into dusks arresting
berth of acceptance .

She floats above
the crashing rocks
of freedom .

I wonder to whom I journal
Because when I write
It is always a
conversation