If my palms were the pages of my heart,
I would script inklings of prose...
Grey tendrils drifting up in the darkness
The fire consumes the darkness with its light...
Lost in my literal obsession, I pen you down
with absolute hunger to title my new book...
I find my self lost, undefined
through your subtle sadness...
Boundlessly tossing into the ocean,
gathering jewels from the muddled...
Forever broken, start to end,
Inside and out, it will never mend...
Black blood-
written words from my heart...
I keep reading
our last drivel...
I won't fume about
in old ways...
He calls me His Beloved,
His love has set me free...
Close my ears, shut my eyes,
No learning I succumb...
The red-stained lark
stitched his libretto...