Puckered lips.
'How should I move' and 'where should she meet me'
Forth on. And I don't. And she won't.
Unconventional.
We're ******, love. Smitten.
Frost-struck fools.
Your hand didn't find mine when I lost my footing,
And you won't understand why people don't come here,
The place where none should stand
to fall.

No response. Unkept, godless silence; pray, pray, I am prey.

That was it, wasn't it?
An exclamation point to a run-off
sentence; we refused.
She'll pray to the gods
We'll later become
And I'll never sip on something pristine as
Lavender tea lemonade.

She said the stars converse as we do.
Shining. Laughing. Slowly dying.
I'll go to your back, then your head to my chest.
Hearing you: softening
Jabs to whispers.
There, a heavy light settled along the edge
Of our spot, our unencumbered field of obsidian
And crafted blades of grass.

Of all the things I can be,
I can't be the last to go.

I threaded the lyrics of my soul's last song
with a string of your actions.

My dear, you've muted me.

The indecisive grey is a casualty of the black and white war.

Hope loves to play.
She hides her essence in the smiles of strangers.
Approach her, end the game.
Then share what's been found with the time spent seeking.

Absolute Objectivity does not exist.

Fed selfishness, become consumed.
Starve selfishness, become sated.

Humility sets the stage for learning
And wisdom gained, through acts of earning.
No role forced, none strung to play.
No certain applause, none forced to stay.
No knowledge will steady a wavering hand.
No strength to those with a dependent stand.
No yearning for truth demands concerning
When humility sets the stage for learning.

Where's the edge in your rhyme schemes?
No wedge between my time and my themes.

You make cents while you don't make sense,
play dense when you mistake tense.
In my defense,
I expend to no end, at no expense.
Hide intense behind offense,
a generic's scend is too immense.

Son of sin, son of suns and runes.
Father of win, father of puns and tunes.

We are all going to die.
We are all going to be forgotten.
It doesn't matter if your grave is six feet deep and three feet wide,
Or if your body was slung over the side,
of a boat in motion
from hands devoid of emotion
We all end up just the same.
Decayed and rotten.
Forgotten.
If that isn't Equality,
I don't know what is.