Well hello poetry, give me your astrology, hold out your hands let's have the maps your treasure's keep.

Sing me the songs now, your idle devotions, the languages of lucifer you
hide in your pots and pans. If you're awake, go back to sleep, it's time to eat you and cry on your pants. In a mistake that the garden you've kept on a clock, analog visuals to change how you talk.

While the song it keeps exploding, you only know how much you've been holding. Don't be too tired to call out if you need. It's late but don't forget how much veterinary school is worth, even the bumps and early morning rattles won't shake you at your core. It's morning now, the heat is on. The rustling of peasants start to grumble for their eats. Pumpkin with coconut oil in Ed's dish is the greatest point in her morning's happiness.

I don't cry. I don't cry. I just talk about it, in voices that only you understand. I don't cry. I don't cry. I just care about you. As much and more than the certainties you care about me too.

It's getting noon soon. And the cold is growing. I'm talking myself into getting more clothes on pretty soon. I don't cry. I don't cry. I'm just pretending to keep me going. I'm so enamored by someone as cool as you do. Let's play pretend, but keep all of this still going. Our neverending portrait drawings of Wednesday afternoon. Do you try? I try. As much as you have taught me. The weather doesn't affect how much I'm talking after you.