I pick up my pen
Like it's an anchor to the living
Oh to be a fool in love with death

𝓦𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴, 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵...
          𝓦𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓽, 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓽𝓮𝔁𝓽.

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸...
         "𝓘 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓪 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝓯𝓸𝓸𝓵...
         𝓓𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓮

this is where all the secrets are held
in the smell of yesterday's rain in the air
in the dark, and in that pool
in the little moonlight patch falling on my bed
with the window open and the air cool
and the night young and wild and a fool

A pencil is
Such a wonderful tool.
Sharpen it well,
Or you will write like a fool.

Only a fool could have discovered such purls of wisdom.

I refuse to diffuse myself
I refuse to refuse myself of these bubbling feelings
you brought me to a boil
you tried to be my character foil
scrub and rub myself clean of your imprinted kisses
but my mind is still tattooed by all your smooth moves
I was too naive and you were too cool
made me question my reality, made me lessen my sexuality
walking the line for someone again like the fool

Thinking of my closest relationships
makes me marvel at what a fool I am.
A map of the streams of my loves
would show small settlements
tiny villages where I’ve rested
from my frantic search for meaning -
spaces made by nights of talking and sharing -
spaces of kisses, cries,
shouts and whispers that kept together
the threads we coiled into a chord
of memories.

Memories of foolish leaps we both made
into a friendship, a kinship, a marriage
a co-creation.

What faith abides in me that causes
me to abandon logic for love?
It is a mystery to me
how I can stay in this embrace
despite our divergencies?

But it is a splendid mystery
I celebrate.