All the time and inbetween,
the stolen glances,
things unseen.

The time it ticks on forgotten clocks,
stealing moments,
broken thoughts.

Transient,
devout,
clinging,
wrapped in in yards of doubt.

Dry wondering countance,
words ringing out.

Falling now from nimble limbs,
down on paper,
the things I've been.

Ever swerving,
changing shape,
lacking form,
and soulful gait.

My darling, dearest, charming one,
with trembling fingers,
weakened knees,
thoughtful presence,
and desperate needs.

Open arms,
tolerant embrace,
tumbling down with lofty Grace.

Fragile,
sanguine,
woeful eyes,
behind which my shattered spirit hides.

Longing,
hopeful,
for some reprise,
daft and wistful,
eager sighs.


Oh the things a kiss provides...

The State of Me

The state of me...

Washed,
 lost in transit.
Clinging to the thing that stabilizes me,
the thing I can no longer identify in the dark.
It ebbs and flows just out of reach,
but then again how far am I truly extending my grasp?
This I can not say.
I have been transposed so many times I feel transparent.

The inky shadows call to me,
as they always have.
Shout out my name in the dreams I wish I were having,
but alas I have nothing.

The air it fills me by words that fall from my fingers.
How else do I truly know of my own existence?
The words make me real,
make me feel,
and without them I am nothing.
Shapeless,
baseless,
crude and abandoned.

Do not misconstrue my thoughts as bland mocking misery.
I pray you don't read to deeply into me,
too deeply into a thing that the surface would easily tell all.
Give you the just of me,
the state of all I ever long to be.

I don't dabble in sadness,
nor taunt the roads of woe,
I see the world through sanguine eyes,
bleary red,
pragmatically innocent,
and devoid of staple perversions.