And in his casual rants dropping hints of my displacement, or in your desire to lead a normal life, find me in a place of friendly confession taker, and in the art which he shakes out consistently amazed me, and in the poetry formed and flowing image dancing changed me, and in our bedroom whispers, eager, files of secret pictures, and in the last does she keep those? Share, exposing tincture, how volumous how beauteous how bountiful in tone, how hard it is to share in innocence the memories of home.
I find it complicated, mis-entangled as in it wasn’t meant to be so, but adaptation lead us here and its hard to see who’s heart is clear - and maybe its all but me.
In the way of beauty, but delving further deeper, and as I fall the walls jut and scrape, growing ever steeper.
And as we bleed so centrally, that cruel pool crimson shimmer, run around bandaging but hopes seem ever dimmer.
((((this is about 8 relationships getting tangled together -and some thoughts)
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