I had a list.
It was important,
which is why
I lost it.

I had a list.
It was filled with
things to do
      vs
things not to do,
questions, quotations,
1-800 phone numbers
from late night TV.

I had a list.
Remember to buy vinegar.
Remember who I am.
Channel Grandma.
Pair up socks.

I found a list -
I wish it was mine.

I feel as if I'm in a cloud, a cloud of mist and heavy hearts. I have never wondered to lonely, yet so close to the ground as I have in these passing days. I had once lived in a beautiful bliss. An innocent, soft adoration with a flutter; one that I can see now was never fully appreciated. I had lived there with my One. My Person. My heart. We had loved in times that we could not see how we would drift apart. And I had loved in times that I could not see him drifting further than me.

It is very hard, but I must force myself to not long for what was. Even though it was breathtaking. So literally. It was slow, soft, enveloping, scintillating. It was first love. A small carnation, because they are my favorite. We must learn to look forward into the future, unlike the listful ways we had before. I will learn a new love, one harrowed by time but truer for the beatings.

That we can walk through these doors with the keys to each others hearts, instead of giving up at each heavier door, will be our greatest achievement in love. But let this also stand true in your mind: No door may be moved with only half a heart. Together we make our own.

Musky wine or sweet whisky
Can I feel the words?
Dense cheese and listful misty
sullen sorrow birds.
Hold me in their heart
They catch me with their eyes.
Flying by fly shiny pieces
Stealing all my happy faces.
Flapping flapper birdy types.
Flippy flirty wordy tripes.
So sappy and so sad.
God it makes me mad.
I thought I was the worried one.
But I'm the only one you had.

Crinkling, sizzling
grey, listful energy
always
waiting for the collapse,
perhaps it can hear the discordance
in your voice
when you tell me
it's over.

Remembered best.

Conspired in listful site.
Lay upon frozen forgoing lake.
Seize in the night.
For embrace of lips of world.
Intertwined.
Only imagined.
In the mist blue grasping through.
The pines.
Glisten of eyes.
Mirrored in soft pyro
She lay.
Wrapped.
In nothing but amethyst wools.
Playing the 6 string.
She sleeps to the tune.
In easiness of the early brake of new.


Garrett Johnson