Monday, 14 August 2017

before we get there

setting my ideas in
your entire species of eye;
a realization that carries my
jailed rain for its' own infinite.
our moments have been 
un-broken and although
we are drinking each other's dry
words we cannot help but disappear
in the paragraphs'  undoing.
the knowledge of our freedom
desperately titling our peace
into mystic prey.
 

this will be my last poem

so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...