Rubber banded tongue,
trapped in your elastic mouth.
Pulling at your molars as the
dried blood rest in your mouth.
You look up and you see
Perplexing clouds shifting, one one way,
one the other.
The bees dance when they see this too.
They too know miracles when they see them.

You speak with repetitions, like an eagle
catching its prey.
One is natural though, like the beat of the heart,
the other is forced, like the vomited out "I Love You"
that are left at the graves of the dead.

Good intentions die sometimes, like flowers left at a
tombstone,
they to will end.