The sun dips,
behind the mountain,
behind the treeline,
into the
blue

The way I wish you would.

Your eyes,
the colour of evergreens
drenched in dawn
& gilded

the afterglow,
the embers of the day
fading & strong,
reminding me of another
day, with you
& without you

I know, you know
no one is
perfect,
but, do you
know?

Here?
In Here?

I'm scared this might be the
closest
any one of us gets

Here.
You & me.

Dive into the
fear
so I can take your hand
& walk barefoot
while everyone we love
sleeps,
while the night cools the
earth
& we're drunk off the
scent
of a true midsummer night's
dream

When will you finally
tell me,
certain as the dew
that kisses the morning,
that the only lips
you want mine to
touch
are yours?

Because I can feel your
rhythm,
the way a breeze can tell of a
storm

Lean into me.

As we take in the
beauty
that surrounds us,
so I can put my head on your shoulder
& rest easy
hearing your heart beat

Because mine
beats for
you.

Tell me you'll find me
when the time is
right

Because I'll wait for you.

The endless
grey abyss of winter,
painful & biting & testing
I'll wait for you like
I wait for
spring

Because you are the
deep evening sky
& I am the coral clouds
as the sun dips,
behind the mountain,
behind the treeline,
into the
blue

To compensate for (A -Z)
     ineradicable alphanumeric
     character flaws (i.e. mutations
     of body or mind,)

     and avoid amass
sing wracking up vexatiously
     undesirable threatening class
action lawsuit against

     Matthew Scott Harris,
     which preliminary measure
     taken to avoid disembarrass
sing said individual as

     a majorly flawed individual
literal shortcomings of body,
     mind and spirit,
     the metier of writing doth encompass

a creative realm to trump
     geomorphology, sans groundmass
at the unsolicited expense
     (mine alter ego i.e. worst critic)

     will gleefully find,
     and expose grammatical,
     misspelling, spelling,
     et cetera errors to harass

glommed together with isinglass
hop, skip and jumping
     to appear as a *******
whereat no respect

     able collegiate lass
would give a fig about me,
     one totally tubular royal morass,
which expert anthropologists

     stumped asper nonclass
     if eye able ****
     sapiens mutant ninja turtle
case in point being his

     wanting in height not e'en pass
     sing the six foot mark
     plus mental illness
     perhaps traceable to

     besotted cognitive damage
     inherited predecessors
     quaffing an overdose of quass
made obvious peering at resulting

     Ct scan results viewed
     via microscopic spyglass
revealing abnormal amygdala
automatically designating
     his aptitude underclass
among average human
     with mettlesome Zeusian brass.

The permanence of the effect of our existence and actions terrifies me. This contemporary mood swings both ways, however. My love for love outweighs and overthrows my need for food, for sleep, for air to breathe... And you, I am in awe of... My eyes do not see anything else. My heart does not desire anything else. Forever blinded by pretty girls, my naïve eyes and thoughts are focused on you. My naïve heart beats just for you. I am way too full-on, far too all-at-once, but you admire that about me and I deeply, deeply admire you.