tears out of idle pen hands,
and look where it took us.
i've encountered space between us
but I've blurred intentions into
us.
dimples so deep it cut through
pirate metal regrets and peanut
rippled seas.
alas, i found golden threads growing out of the thunder and
into my viens, they wepr.
several years will pass,
and deceased poem pellets
will begin to hurt,
again.
