in candlelight, his shape defies still form.
warmth taps dormant tongues into fleeing words
extending withheld emotion.
trembling in fabric-kissed skin,
he held the artist’s hands to find stability in his touch.
uncertain whispers beg the question.
heavy head flickering against his chest,
he folds under his own stillness.
Engaging myself through a lack of visual content,
I found that we constantly catch ourselves in walking —
just a simple cycle of
tripping and meeting ground_
tripping and meeting ground_ _
tripping and meeting ground_ _ _
square off statements into fleshed out corners
duplicates scaling your view
saving for this too
Tickle your fancy
with gab and intricate garb
for this Sunday’s best.
Love before breakfast?
Love is my breakfast.
It is all I know.
Blinking away morning stars.
Your warmth tells me where you are.
call me hun one more time
and I’ll show you how sweet I can be
now would you just listen to me
I’ve got a sweet head you say
a prize never to be won
so where’s the fun
it’s in my actions
sometimes surprisingly more than my words
which have yet to be heard
so call me hun one more time
and then you’ll see
just how sweet I can be