april, with bloodied fists, heaving breath finds
respite where your clavicle meets your sternum...
They always asked
who you are...
From a murky window, I watch you disappear
Through dusty picture albums, your face is not so...
-
and there you were, delicately cupped between...
You are so quiet
but your silence is quite loud...
Drums beating within
fingers typing...
Humanity is
the experiences of...
When the nights are black
And the shadows beckon...
To survive the night
the little bloom is to pick...
Life is a guitarist
who has never owned a guitar...
If sun comes for me
with arms wide open...
swirl the moonlight in your wine glass,
and tell me if it’s as bitter as it looks...