there’s a reason why lovers don’t take to the mountains,
the huge boulders make way for the sand and the fire burns the trees making it more magnificent,
shine shine shine shine.
it grows dependent,
the lovers grow,
inside when the first twilight first first first.
the picture,
the braids,
the blackness,
the pedestal,
walking itchy foot,
going nowhere turned fat,
its the nose therefore,
the flat oily nose in the morning,
penchant for the demise,
the long legs turned fat,
the eyes turned bubbly,
i’m mistaken.
only to find myself looking at you now,
after a long long long time.
the boulders rush down,
to your books and poetry,
behave it is the books speak,
and when I open you in my memory,
it bursts,
the mistrust,
the mistrust…
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