Into the expanse of thoughts of you.
Endless moments of smiles and virtues.
Constellations inside of your eyes.
Moments of forever written in the sky.

she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could

from misty stupor

faceless sentinels are roused

absinthian rev’ries

heavy rain from a darkening sky
and buildings  fall

no one knows what will be left
running down the nowhere
where dreams die
on a metal tray
at the hospital morgue

trouser leg pushed up
the search for black ink
and a child's name
begins

perhaps the arm
the hip

the back?

and the children plead,
lie to me,
tell me,
i won't die,
today

and the silent screams
are left in an eternity of why?

foul and bitter hearts
will prevail
on both sides,
this is the poetry of death