we keep the house cold
so that we can trace life
out of the puffs of clouds
that hum from our lips.
as he skates off the bed
feet nibbling
at the floor boards,
arms drizzling
past his waist,
he sits on the edge of the air
changing what filters into my lungs
with each yawn that stretches from him-
his pale back angled to my face, I
stretch my legs towards him,
resting my feet on his back,
toes tucking into the brails
of his spine,
and we wait within
the beauty of those ripe days,
when everything fell
on our swollen eyelids.

One day our ship will port in a place of peace and wonder.
Abaft facing the wind and sails at rest.
Limp from its journey, tired and sunder. The bolt rope holding it together.
pushing stead course toward its mark breaking every crest.
awaiting to reach its voyage end, brails to pull along the way.
The shore that limits the journey stay.

Posed and felt well
Hose and water fell
Breaking bells
Cause i hate the tone that it tells
Like witch if she's hitting on Gretel

Feels like the world should be read in brails
I fall and i fail so everyone can feel well
I vow and leave trails so that no one can be letf behind
Entrailed and bewildered are the sentence in thosw words themselves
I don't know what im saying so please don't take my words for granted
Painted panted breath
Is how my words describe my wolrd

Sea-Fever

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by.
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.

I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over

Don't let my fever return
Before your nimble yarns
Bedrooms weary
Drapes oft hanging
Leaving little lies
A heart in two
And two more as shoes
Let one and another sail the brails
Beneath her witched perfumes
Sea shanty see chanty
I worry not as diving
Nor rising moons sandy boom
Only the mid mornings spry