In poetry a source of comfort, relieving angst, a character unveiling over time, moving forward, I become more of myself, without a lover of soul intimate gestures, it's not an exchange of not enough love, poetry and I, inputting with one another.
Embellishing inner worlds, I search for what not is said in poetry by living life. Infinite paradox. A relationship with the matrix. A depth of reality and taking away myth. Daydreaming philosophy in solitude that doesn’t starve who breathes out embers for earth.
Still I think there is a love that poets rave about true and existing. To what I saw in experience, nothing of like in the dark of married people. For what substance they lack, is their souls involved. Despite the words they state in public. They converse opposite when eyes are turned away.
Smile for me now.
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