though i remain quite ambivialent and measure the stars by the years that i've grown, something small opens..... so softly, your meager whisper might crush it's frail softness into fine, white, virginal powder and there i would sit, like elderly men do around elderly tables... (they have seen such days in their age) possibly trying to abbreviate my youth into such small, meaningless tales. perhaps, though, i would like to believe that the universe is relative and real, like your delicate hands - so there, so now. perhaps, i have been too busy clinging to the fabric of chance, sewn of swirling threads, and patterned in chaos. (i pray for restored order sometimes) permit my foolish heart and excuse my fumbling attempts to what idon'tknow for everything is changing so rapidly. and you being such joy and young emerald energy in my chest surround my every life, collapsingme suckingme tossingme into the whirlwind of fascination. and i would pull you close, so that your breath may fog my eyes.
Reason for writing:
i was trying to write about something else and
the poem took a course of it's own and
it ended up being about a person who is constantly
the subject of many poems of mine
Birth sign: Not entered
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