your moon is my moon
it watches us both on a warm summer night

it shines proudly upon us as we trace each other with fingertips, sending chills in waves across our moonbeam skin.

it illuminates our most secret loves, kissing like no one is watching. (besides the moon, no one is)

I guess that no one watches because no one cares about our moon lit heaven.
But the moon watches.
The moon watches to see us fly and fall.
We fall in love all over again.

After being explored
by a savage
and ***** of the land and freedom that was hers
rightfully she broke
into millions of used pieces.
And when everything that was left of her was taken,
she began to go into hiding
with camouflage *******, hoping and praying
that maybe it'd be enough.

There's a plum
in the crease of my arm
where precious crimson flow was taken away.

Stolen from my vessel
in an attempt, in vain, to learn
but it was just a simple ***** in the skin.

And it created a plum.

Have you ever had that
"I'm sitting here with no clue"
kind of feeling after
you thought you had just cleansed yourself of
everything in the shower?
And have you ever
well
hoped that that's exactly what you had done?
Saying goodbye to everything as it went down the drain.
Have you ever just sat in your bed,
shower thoughts filling your mind
when nothing is even on your mind at all?
Begging, pleading, silently waiting
for a word or a hint of one
to escape from your open mouth.

This is what happens when you become glazed,
but not a donut.

I'm waiting for the cicadas
to, um...
do whatever a cicada does on a summer night.

I'm waiting for the watermelon juice
running down
making everything too sticky in the sun.

I'm waiting to sneeze
as the dust from flowers, pollen,
fills my nose and gets angry.

I'm waiting for the brook to babble,
the trees to sway their new dresses made of fresh leaves and buds,
I'm waiting for this.
...And more.