|a puddled sky picket fence, outside of work|
one evening a few summers ago
when the restaurant was slow
my eyes don't work as well as they used to work
and I'm not nearly good looking enough
to pull off vanity but my ego still likes to ride
wisdom gigs now, belly laughs, drunk in the dark
wondering just how old I have to be to get it...
I channel dark velvet(s), muses wrapping obsidian
something to carry at night slow stir pot polishing
why I'm singing songs Sun parades, tree to paper poem
poem says, I only fall in love for the torture...
I like to because there are no rules when doing so...
I can get vulnerable, poem says, enough
to stake claim to each time
my soul inherits its bones...
I whisper boo, maybe you forgot
we play until sleep takes us both
role, rabbit hole, lo and behold
leap and faith bargain where toes go
the rest of us carry things...