I'll throw myself under the bus every now and
again to see how I take it, an
interesting game for a bit, but
having watched this new man come to terms with
my self, I am joyous,
elated,
sprung up like a forget-me-not from the
lack of a pillow, misty mornings, love over my
head like a river
still, rains are heavy - every single night changes something, the comfortable
shades of wet, defined puddles reflecting porchlight
do memories really die with us?
no.
they are twin steps ahead to immortality, Westward smiles like plains and hills rumbling
as mountains of epiphany
I'm trying to make certain of things that are impossible, goodness
that's enough of that, suppose stubbornly a
change of scenery and open heart can achieve
anything worth trying
and she'll never know the picture half strung-out on forgetful
chemistry, unless I
paint it just right
at least, that's my
point of view
There's a bit about me. Let me know something about you!