I went to the station where the rain was
pouring, turbulent, seven years old...
You pack your bags, and leave.
You head for a land that is less chaotic...
This isn't a painting.
Don't prance around with...
8:00 PM
only lives...
Dear Admiral,
I wonder what color is the...
I can tell by the slump of my words
that they're tired of standing in this imagery...
I could feel my heart folding itself
like one of those kirigami stars...
I find her -
a heart of wild flowers...
Evermore,
she rests her head tenderly...
The day mourned as if every tree base
was a rueful cry that became softened...
Be it childish scribbling
Crafted, stylized or mere black ink...
There you were,
Inanimate...