Beneath a flower
is a vase, is a flower garden...

My soul is so tempered and tamed
in that temple of a little bloom...

A mid-phase moon
is a sand machine...

With you I'm begun,
no more a phantom...

I feel like fatigue and somnolence are drifting me...
but I know I shall not succumb to this lethargy...

He noticed
nobody listens...

The adamantine intent of a warrior
is...

They all are gone
but their souls...

He wanted to be clear
but clarity turns to blank and one must die...

Don’t worry my love
your outer beauty, your withering bloom...

You love me now.
~Ticking clock, ticking clock...

I am here
there for here is an extension...