god
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When I turn away he finds me A hand to my jaw a look I can’t outrun He doesn’t move like he’s thinking he moves like breath like instinct like the step between desire and permission We don’t speak in answers we speak in breath in steps in touches that say stay And eyes that
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I can sit in a park and watch people for hours; their vague denial entertains me. That or I crave naivety. We have lost the art of discernment in this world. I am no saint. My impairment comes with a boy. Cliché. Unoriginal, but lays kindle to a fire that keeps me warm at night.
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If you hear me grant me peace for a minute. I can not live with this chaos. I am a dim flame that dances to keep others warm. Do you understand? Do you even care? Is my voice like the morning birds singing their tune; do you listen for your amusement? If we are to believe; we
Wishful Thinking 