You were the greatest neuronal reorganization to ever happen,
of course I don't know who I am anymore.

What was plastic seems changed to stone in a gargoyle brain and beneath a microscope the shimmering glia spell out your name over and over in little green lights, fossilizing the neurons that say:

Him.

The earth has an edge. Nobody wants to fall off.

So call me Homer, because the gods themselves could not convince me my situation's a sphere there's far too much fear in this flattened plane that understands only primitive desires and just wants you near.

Everyone knows the romanced brain could be mistaken for a ******* addict's.

But perhaps if you look more closely into my eyes you will see my irises have turned stormy, that cyclones of energy are becoming patterns that scribble and scribble arcane suggestions for a new cartography. A new story. A new being.

Supplies needed:
One strong pencil.
Enough oxytocin to unlearn an addiction.

Enough optimism to overcome an affliction, my diction is code for the way you kissed me and it underlines every sentence like the way a voice rises when asking a question.

I have so many questions.

And even though the notion of who I will be when I am not you terrifies me, like Cathy and Heathcliff I will not be doomed to roam the moors, already I know there's endlessly more, and with or without you the best is yet to come. Just as they say. No, I don't know what's in store. But I think that's okay.

Turn golden, Grey Matter, light up 'til you burn.

Reboot.
Restart.
Rewire.

*Relearn.

The smoky smell of autumn leaves
settles inside my mind,
like a rose petal
fossilizing inside a mountain

In wintertime snowfall
blankets the blemishes

In springtime rosebuds
seed the air with hope

By summer the air
is pregnant with passion

But I fall more in love
with each autumn day,
her palette of colors
coalescing to your hazel eyes

There used to be spaces
Between falling asleep and waking up
Spaces without emotional gravity
Where it gets hard to breathe, and I am turned inside out

There used to be spaces
Between pale fingers and heavy shoulders
Spaces cold with longing
For a breathing, comforting warmth

Where these spaces used to be
There's now you

Within every weary crevice, your presence flows
Every touch a lingering sediment, filling pieces that were once broken
Fossilizing fragile parts that were once left to die

Where these spaces used to be
There's now you

Patiently holding me through the varying magnitudes of my earthquakes
Silently bearing my uncalled eruptions
So accepting, of my faults and folds

There used to be spaces
Where what was precious to me were only the gemstones I collected

And where these spaces used to be,
There's now you.

the melancholy music
dwindles inside of my bones
hollowed by the
constant straining of limbs
hoping to feel something
other than this
unfailingly cold metal
kissing my tongue
gleaming cruelty
branding scars into finger tips
im unsure of everything
and most of all
i am a lost
cry for help
a distant plea
fossilizing into a future
of dead uncertainty.

will we stay fossils in our
graves
or continue as Apostles in the Acts to be saved?

the first faith is the
clearest
sometimes we see better afar than nearest