intention is what drives the pulse
a kiss on the forehead, a subtle reminderthat what's not shown is what's worth
another night inside
it's like waking up and outside seeing snow:
an event so rare,
eyes fall flat unaware;
the shape of a burning candle will guide
the coming and going of souls through the night
it's the tease of the times,
sprinkled with a soft laughter,
a running gag for the morning,
an entire universe built just for
the myriad of people looking outside the window
hoping they will catch on snow.
it's mid july,
i remember the embrace which could keep me sane,
the radio playing unequivocally remorseful lyrics
soft-toned presenters announcing time of the day
it's not the coldest time yet
it's not the thinnest my patience has ever been
i'm still wondering if outside i'll catch the soft peaks
or if i'll run down your mouth
trying to catch a glimpse of what's inside of you
i'll run around the old oak tree
retrace my steps in the ice
breeze will collate through the door
and no bone will shatter but
the chest I sleep upon goes on and on and on
rumbling around in my thoughts
the slippery tides that hold us in
a reckoning of sentiment
it's just my desire is as big
as losing the shapes of trees
in the fog above.
my love is so immense
i could break down engines
and shatter them
in stone cold fragments
of history.