Fungal residue slides off the needy bark
oh! the withholding ways of the young heart
that have lost you to me
fully and truly
Is there mist in the air you breathe?
or do humming birds still choke on hope?
we wrote on clouds in which to believe
"love floats"
no... love soaks and drenches
suffocates you in its stenches
leaving you the allure of a carcass
yes, all the green fades
every still grass blade
cuts through your purpose
but what i really wonder
is: are you real?
or were you never?
the wind that blows thunder to change the weather
is nature at its most mysterious
Is this still life?
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I write what i like
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