he lives in rainy season,
soft between the mists,
sunlight smile evaporating
the cold morning dew,
cliffside heart longing
for a ledge.

he is the room rental
with chipping wallpaper,
holding it together for a bed
and a bottle of cheap whisky:
it is warm and quilted,
a comfort until dawn.

he is the clouds veiling the moon,
expanding its luminescence,
the rush of adrenaline
after diving into a March sea,
the palpitations and peace
of sitting with not knowing.

he is the beauty of molding homes,
old pines, winter waves,
damp scent of death and moss
filling your nostrils as you freeze
with no fear in your heart
in the arms of a lover.