future we fear
to unravel and let
breath of our neptunes
in.
i am a soaking air of
knowing and by and
by i am still. i am distilled
in this water of grief where there
is no beginning middle
or end. just an end an
end and a copper lit
end. i weave into her quilt
whilst she tumbles empties
down her rustic slacks;
defined ribs for one
purposeful opening.
waiting for a blossom
covered in cherry paint
and no one will ever
see what i saw
today.
just the hanging
words on these white
flavored
empty pages.
one by one
and end
by non.
