There might be some truth
in the beauty of my images,
my imagination, my savior
from enjoying lovelessness
too much.

There might be a kind of
person who
would mirror my thoughts
in a different skin
and that could be bliss.

There might be a field,
wide and sunny, with
the armor of intellect
crashing with purpose,
both so strong,
the ground never shakes,
never moves.

An image.
Frightening, how perfect it is.