Please listen while I start speaking.
Trouble sleeping = trouble waking.
But in between means no mistaking.
The strength in dreaming takes the day stream
Of consciousness, that interrupts societies insistence
My soul and yours
Meeting sweetly in secret spaces our love oozing overboard, invading horribly laid plans, So…
I close doors to make it easy for you to stay,
Breezy, lightly pleasing but never say truly deeply, never leaving your little, familiar, SWeEt sPot.
Feet locked and tree trunk body refused to grow branches or bare truth regardless of the perfect condition for Sun and rain on, and on, and on,
Your head, always a cleanly shaven graveyard where beautiful, curly hair never lies. You command these stubborn strands of life ( and imagination?) Though they desperately claw at light- you try to hide.
Aha, Mr. HYDE park, did you like my bright spark burns on your bitten tongue to taste blood in the spaced spun IN place of puns? shoot, we’ve haven’t yet beebee gun.
To eat the fruit,
We’ve only been staring at cute, sweet, berries. These very distinguished differences don’t elude, 100 proof is in the peaches. I see through you, ghost dog,and send messages tied to pigeons carrying on amidst the smouldering wreckage that is the majestic ship i built for you to escape in.
Without my waist thin, I brace for lacing. Tasting mace and spit I down a break-fit and growl, my voice so loud it shakes shit,
Begging, “Fake it” til we make it to the pub at the end of universe sipping drinks laced in chucks and chinos debatin’, Things Fall Apart… while old habits don’t die at all and new love freshens up the waste bin.
One man’s trash is a woman’s treasure.
Another man’s trash is wearing rose-colored 3-D glasses.