How many lives pass within my imagination?
I do not cease my fantasies--
more like me not to breathe than stop supposing
worthy empty things like
relationships and experiences.
I am the fool, the one who makes loud declarations
to empty rooms,
rather than speak to what I know.
Each morning the sun reaches
across the blue white morning,
reddening he crests the buildings beyond
my window, and drags fingers across me
starting at my feet, going--until he
offers a tiny blessing at my forehead.
He knows how to hold a person’s splendor
without burning.
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Hey,
I don't know how this will appear, but I'm hoping it's something I can' use to talk to you before you post a comment. I realize it can be a bit of a turn off to have your comments submitted for moderation and not posted immediately. I post every comment I get, I just want to know that I've gotten one. So I'm not as controlling as it may seem. So tell me what you think! Thank you.