lay with you

lie with you

writing, writing and it didn't make sense.

I feel

that is what I feel

how beautiful that is just

to feel and not complicate

with self evoking, redundant chords

to just swing on the quiet strings of its simplicity.

plates shift now foreign

From the corner of eyes,
too poised
You look
Not even seeking, and still pressed together.
As if flowers in mother's firm books.

I fear finding one of rumor of your quiet Bloom
would make me collapse,
and anyway
where should my head fall after crafting those
digging thorn
levees on your lap?

Watch My Dawn rise carefully, upon warm hairs
of the crown's childish head,
as if knowing, then suddenly quite carelessly showing.. and showing
and showing.
and showing
How our light splendidly crept from the curtains,
quite clear off to bed,
and up to the wall.
How can it be told you did not feel it at all?

Our separate ice boxes may fit us well, for I am not afraid
to be alone, to be fed alone.
Learned to pave this path of my own silken tread.
Now you slump our shoulders
just to say it is better,
now we can make ourselves
happy (as nothing),
and you think it works.

See I thought there was no more of you that I could miss,

for now it seems all I possess remains stale memorythat aches of your caress.

Maybe now I slouch almost thankfully divided.

Should I set hearts a sail and say you're the one that has lost,

or try to piece it together to show what you forgot?

Today I will write a Poem and not an Elegy.