Bathed in cobalt moonlight, I drive to your window,
The light’s off, nobody’s home,
Maybe you’re there, wrapped in velvet gray, on the cool wooden slabs, forehead telling stories of your perceived failures,
Better to keep driving, nobody’s home,
Who was the firecracker who burned so brightly in the sunshine of your youth?
Now, the days are both a flash and wearily long,
You walk down the corridors of the past as if you are seeking permanent residence,
Where will you make your home?
These are the questions you dare not ask,
Allow me to inquire into your fog,
I will appreciate the haziness with fervor of sloth,
By December none of this will have mattered,
If it ever really mattered at all,
I played with fire and danced in the rain the same place she wept for your gaze,
I see the star you shared and I see it’s decay,
You are the grim reaper who breaks his own heart time and time again,
Fear your only constant lesson,
I will not write you love songs or poems, I will only write that I hope in time you will love you,
Sun charged stones lining paths of healing and truth,
May you find space to rest your fins, furrowless brow,
Third eye kissed, limerance, holy tryst, take my bow
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