on my humid, cool southern bed:
cicadas, & crickets intoning:
i miss you.
i must forgive amidst the dampness,
and so too amidst the brittle, sunblinding dryness.
i watch where my gut goes,
maybe never to settle.
to always break, as in a heart, or a wave,
or a levvy in a flood:
i hold back the guilt of dreamseeking
as one who knows the value of:
an open heart,
warm like salted butter and cinammon;
invasions & interventions of realities.
it begins to slip though, as i learn to
make some room for love --
and for letting go.
bones releasing, muscles lax
i feel a fleeting pain that's real
and it feels better than phantom pain that
haunts the edges of my outsides.
i love you, thieron.
i see your rich, child's heart,
a pulse that cools over phone lines
& digital zero-ones.
sydney, your horse face, so set,
so fiery and determined:
let's bug out / lets bugs out.
scarlett: intervene & call me;
tell me the news.
let's be near.