Is it time to drift?
I await your wind chant
on bamboo shores
but cannot share the tide that wears your smile.
Nervous pearls
a vice-clamped fervor tells me you flow this way.
Were I the shore, it would not matter.
To not be in anything is easier to
describe than love.
to not be anything in contravention of—
SELF…
is broken china.
While the pieces slice each finger
we start to rebuild the cup,
Still, it never drinks the same.
We fall through languid pieces
with hopes to be remade.
Is it time to drift?
My watch falls through my wrist
into a puddle
falls to waters' flux
that crash before my castle.
I stare the sun down
Wait in echo of . . .
the echo of . . .
the echo of . . .
A shining harmony
That we reflect until
the moonrise
We smoke blue clouds of calm while
bombs mid-flow blow castles in our sleep;
the castles where I creep
to better hear the sound of your deep
wind chant,
and feel your voice thoughtlessly brush against my skin.
Is it time to drift?...
