When you died I was born, given fresh breeze. Mourning sun. In trust.
You washed away my plans to fall in line. Find a louder call.
My heavy eyelids matter, when toothpaste in my hair does not.
We burn with mutual respect.
Spending time alone with trees and wind, flanked by flies drawn in by sweetness.
Passing not a single soul on a tangled path.
Crashing into dark just to see the barge's other side, the honey pot boat.
The landscape is renewed by a pan-seared sun.
Hot, warm, cool. And you. So far, you make me swoon.
Window-well guts fill up. Still, you make me want more.
Can you find room, the space to take it in?
Splashing back vague.
I sink. My underwater eyes gritty, opening very slowly.
I want excitement that comes from music, not from new.
Water meets the shore, the rocks, the spray...
... the end of today.
