poetry. i am not writing it.(make way for me please)it is my skin. dripping with light.

you are here.the moontides are here.and that’s all that matters.

Love, bemysticalas the flickering blue flameof nightas the fully-awokenmoonbeneath cobwebsof passing cloudsamidst chantinghigh-tidesfuzzy,as my blanketbig enough to illuminate a hundredthousand billion galaxiesand just small enough to fitinto my embrace.

There is somethingmystically sadand beautifulabouthowi will neversee youagainbut meet youagain and againin poetry.