taking in strides
the ever changing tides
like a full moon and cherry blossoms
under a starry night
background; blackened skys
and i bet your lips taste...
like that look in your eyes
semi-sweet centers;
wrapped in blue vines...

but in these times new roman
hope pours out in ink
smeared in silly patterns
of the process in which i think
spelled out triple scores
on a canvas bound to sink
bound to wither
and cracks as it shrinks
depletes; till it's next to nothing
then i bury it six inches underground
just to see it sprout something
maybe something more trusting
cause the tension in my neck
is a heavy heart relapse bumping