and
i needed to see you again;
our
purple spines were the last
of
my freedom. cinnamon tongues
and
rewritten prose were angles
taken
by no other. no other
distances
were broken by
the
wet tunnels and suede
grandeur
trees. to the again
of
our lives; you were the reason
i
got up to see through
the
dark skies, the lit
stars
the hanging moon
of
my shackles’ melting
steal
pain. today i can fall and
remain
peaceful in the knowing.
i
can fall and keep falling because
i
know that i was always flying.
bamboo
meditations and giving
street
noise; i am falling still
flying
i am falling deeper higher
lower
and nowhere but here.
