Autumn, fell into you
fell in love and your arms
and let the dam break open
and the tears flowed like sweat
like sweat when we were so close
treated everyday like our last because it very well could have been
and then it was
we didn't notice the trees dying
so human
the conifers watching
watching us frolick in the remains of their deciduous brothers

love, torture filled yet beauteous

reminiscent of flora emerging from ash after a forest fire

like a waning gibbous projecting yin and yang we too were light and dark

I have still not seen the stars but your words of them carry me there

A brand new Lego set is splayed on the floor.
Fluttering pages threaten calloused fingers as the reader flips through pages.
The loose pieces clink together as delicate hands sift through them.
The bright colors flash and blend together in the pile.
Piece by piece the two finish their structure.
Though some pieces are missing, and some are out of place, the structure is beautiful, and they are content.
As it's lifted to its final place, one of the hands slip, and the structure falls to the floor.
It crumbles apart.
For a moment, the builders hold each other, then one speaks to the other.
"That's okay. They're meant to be put together again."

a man who lives in semantics

who ignores colors and exists monochromatically

wept when he could not solve his problems

he spent so long with the flower under the microscope

that he never got a chance to smell it

I feel desire
A desire so strong and papable amidst the futility
Like a search party for a child everyone knows is gone
A seemingly juxtaposed love affair between a rat and a coyote
A tethering feeling with no slack in its shackles
O, my dearest, trap me not alike fortunado
For I have not wronged you

I miss the analog sounds of the controller

I miss the overlapping sounds of footsteps amongst the sticks and leaves

I miss the sonorous sounds of a reel being cast into shallow water draped in ripples

I miss soviet style ballet dancing amidst the arguments in the kitchen

I miss the back pain from letting you have the nice side of the bed

I miss letting the love **** me

This eyeballs
It pursues you
It bores its tendrils deep beyond any dermal capacity
No matter if a jaunt, stride, or sprint
It is (in) the second person
Can you see yourself?