pave me a new road, foreshadowing
and write down your yesterdays before they begin
all these tensions will **** us someday
in whispers that shiver and bring down kings
when will my poetry be more than just words,
and domino songs be felt and not heard?
pavilions of poetry
we're lost on pause with our clothes in their graves
spinning, and how we've lost count of our
futile accounts on the world we fail
to yet understand.
our fingers grow with the grass, it took my whole life
to feel it, but all my courage still amounts to a
fleck of melting snow, and I can't comprehend the way
your hands felt and how it happened
to me.