He came
as an unexpected breeze...

You said you were
terrified of open water...

He extracts the lust from my bones
to paint, to convey, each reason why...

My writings have held
crooked verses recently...

There is a blaze
rumbling in my gut...

Matador,
my horns...

I back-trace
the series of seemingly...

I hear it rains diamonds
on Jupiter, so paint my vagabond soul...

I dream of a serene place
where the Earth's rotation slows...

My breath escapes me once again,
watching his silhouette blaze as he...

Creativity and insanity go hand in hand,
an artist memorizing the number of wrinkles...

My heart is an open book
lone in a dusty library...