Wasted
Are the lives of the innocent through...

I would hold you up;
close to my mouth...

Disparate visions, dwell in my mind.
Reels of metaphysical images...

Our bodies...

I do recall, when life was sweet
we’d play hop-scotch upon the street...

as I read your letters-
your words...

Should we hold the flame of our tongues-
where words burn holes within our lungs...

..where shadows of the moon,
shimmer in the breeze. The lake...

I travelled the road of my desire
a path which led me to love-shire...

A desolate pit; starved of empathy
where understandings are...

If only-
you could really see...

Pen at the ready, and
Off I go...