the big sky. the inspiring sunset.
the early death. the hardening nipples of
they made loved beside the flirting yellow fire;
it was one of the finest moments.
sad as the hard rain.
the crying sunshine.
my knight in shining armor
last breath of warmth.
the shames returned to their proper places
where it can’t be touched.
random things somehow set us free.
a thrown out memory to remind what
a good time we had.
ironic is the afternoon that mimes
a trampled soul unable to encompass
the constant teasings of solitude that are
formed of unknown but a continuous
reading of defying definitions.
a mirror of passive dreams.
the days incense, and tomorrow.
from ” to woodshed “