it was such a light rain today
that it was practically a mist,
I could barely feel it on my skin.
I'm hopeful, but then I'm doubtful.

is there something wrong about finding beauty in a flower even if it's fake ?
it surely wasn't placed there for me in your abandonded car.
and there are some budding white ones nearby.
I don't even know, I can hardly keep track of anything nowadays.
I'm a fish-head or some pontificating ape or just some bozo you might hate, love, or ignore, or even might be scared of.
J can't even tell, no not one bit.
Maybe my face is just one faded memory waiting to be rediscovered;
maybe I've lost you so many days that I haven't even kept any count.

on memory lane,
just walking in an
opposite direction.

the waterways
and slim heat
are a confession,
a resolution to my
mind,

quiet dancers
for my mind's
ears,
sub silent soliloquies
saunter on in
forevermore.

was it basking
in some hot wax
or was it soothing on a
sordid stone
that we never acted?
did we miss eachother
by a minute ?
took times out of our day
to disappear disappointed,
or did we discover it just in time ?

if need be,
let yourself break to your
lowest number,
be comfortable in your indecisions
and embrace your faultlines.
you're safe,
you're alright.
you're every piece,
every part,
there is
to love.

I've been in a series of doubt and belief.
I hear so many different things
but they're spoken on low volume, I couldn't be away from them if I tried, and I tried. I'll never be alone.
Conjecture and logic with a little sprinkle of hope and conviction,
I'd like to think I know anything about you.
You're a figment of my mind, a touch of my spirit, I sense you through grapevines and dreams.
I conversate with walls and windows and I wonder if it's truely you, if you're truely there.
He says that you are, and I trust that, even if it may be lies.
It's all for a purpose.
It has praise and it has shame,
sometimes it hurts to have a little faith.

I want to hear the silent soft sayings
that are said under your finest breath,
to know the nuanced minutiae of your mindset.
I want to give into the power of your voice, be under your command and your heart in leadership, embrace the embrace of your humility, efface the face they make of you in vility.

You make me a slow burn in desire,
a brisk hike in Morning July,
with each step I take
I can take you higher,
stoking this promise that is my fire.

she bounds in
vivacious curiosity,
confounds with
hidden sweetness,
and has surprises of
endless mystery.

she is a conduit
of marginal talent,
a paintbrush given
to the immaterial
levees.

a childhood friend,
a silent (but spoken)
trusted individual.

you'd be lucky to
pass her any day.