ether
a dream
a memory
from a life lived
or livingmaybe mine
maybe someone
else’ssleepy
sun, still
waking, weaving
between blades
of thick Iowa grass
yellowing and resoluteworshipping
their golden
god.eternal beds
canopied with iron gatesglorious even in
decaying.
oh, the way they lie
through glass lenses
for dollar signs
it isn’t true love
unless you apologize
show me something real
where the love hurts like i do
i don’t want fake tears
i want passion that burns
lovers to the ground
and dwindles down
and they emerge like phoenixes
from the dust.
not a single star in the sky
but a thousand in your eyes
reflecting off these city lights
Silenticel 