Desuetude overfilling the
Broad sights of us and our
Vague hands.
I am cryptic and in your
Morning delusions.
I am delayed in your sudden
Misspelled march towards us.
Who i am to you means
More than your silver
Fed fortune; who i am
Will now be who you are.
My behavior is subdued
In our sunset cramp
And opal blood pours
Through our grounded
Palms. Because i can hold
Your pain and the wires
Will only strengthen our
Missing parts. Parts to
Whole tears. Dried intuition
Mustard happiness
And solitude forgiveness.
