I went looking for the bruises that bring me dead pan concrete luxury, sleeping quietly under blankets, the stone of them keeping me in place. But this time, nothing------
The quiet tide of you left me with no insects marching towards light; the faraway of you an actual relief to the incest on the streets that maybe ought to lease themselves out for prey.
The nights resemble a going away into nothing / my eyes don't see the others, or hear them or know them. Just that middle ground of brown between dark and amber that swivels its hips to and from, mangles its intentions before it even sets a plan between our sweat and endless sleep.
[Don't
mind the snoring Ganesh.
Lord of Beginnings < > Lord of Obstacles.
Yes}
Where does this leave it? The sun keeps waking up hangovered with its limbs intact. Bruises of luscious, beautiful fiery bronze and red golden hue. Same as you on the inside.
There is comfort in that never changing.
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