In snowy peaks
and gray valleys
grassy plains
and lower back pain
the falls
and rivers of grief
thorny branches of the bois d’arc tree
the womb
of a lily or a lady
pioneers and sinners
losers and winners
on the road
in the heart of home
what you imagine
and what you dream.

After a moment of small grace
I realized in its presence there is nothing small.

You are a valve I can turn
to open the flow of love
into my day
into my heart.

All that is mine I carry with me.

My frosted spectacles
With the tiniest crack on the surface
Just enough to make them special.

My leather wallet
Beaten by years of rain and use.
Inside, a polaroid of the one I consider divine.

My keys
For what I do not exactly remember.
They stay nestled in the back of my pocket, rusting slowly.

My lyric book,
Complete with unfinished ideas that ****** at the
Back of my head, pleading to be finished one day.

My Memories,
Which have a repugnant smell of loss
That I embrace with open arms.

My ‘Dreams’,
A potent synthesis of reoccurring nightmares
Fundamentally unrequited in its presence.

My Addictions,
Virulent Vampires leeching droplets
off who I adore so dearly.

My Love,
You too are being ripped away
So quickly.

I think for now
I shall stare at my lyric book wistfully
Through my spectacles, hoping for redemption.

Perhaps one day I will again be able
To show you the Polaroid I hold so dearly
And finally get to use these keys.

All that is mine, I carry with me;
Hopefully I could one day
carry her too.