Dear sunshine, what is it like
to stare below,

to look
and watch over the big blue sky that everyone has above them?

You see all
the rivers dancing and storm clouds brewing

steady downpour
trickling through the grooves of my frailed hands

overly drawn,
the imagination of what it is to “love”

to be in love;

without an inch of doubt
cocooning.

Like disparity under these moth eaten sheets.

Corners of a room creeping with things' too tediously acknowledged,

the polite stare to an old acquaintance

tolerated

unconsciousness.

Pleading with
every bright declaration

for the rotted floorboards to break away,

breathing in where that blue sky hasn’t touched in what feels like decades.

A declaration,

a primitive dedication to one whom is but an illusory mirror of your own perception.

A dull tasting lie.
for the singular touch of a singular person in every moment of your conscious existence.