I do not choose a game of mental chess
I'd prefer you show me
By trusting that we can hold the space

———————————————————

Undoing every punch
Lock my voice inside a dial tone of conflicting passions
It’s a curious thing when
You let these buried phantoms master you
They reappear and sweep you up
Into uncharted territories

As you sit and stare at their ghost of a memory
Knowingly
Dissecting the luminosity of your youth
Naive innocence
Still there
No faded imagery or idea is too far away to be
Believed
All is possible
in the mirror
of another world
Or so it seems…