You, Sweet Sunshine, are difficult to escape from-- as if I would ever want to-- but You make my words incohesive, my breath just a sigh, even and especially when our boat tosses about this way.
Iβve traveled the world from that passenger seat of yours. And Iβve seen Hell with my own eyes-- itβs an empty cup, empty mind, and empty bed. Too much, not enough for this solemn, crazy head.
The Most Genuine Poetry I have ever had the pleasure to read has been below Your eyebrows while You sleep under turning irises. Iβve been much deprived these past few months.
Apologies, as my interests have recently been revived. Those metaphors still line my sheets where I used to tell my pillows we were Adam & Eve.