0
9
Sunday morning, room pitch dark
Dewdrops in my window pane
Whipped covers of destruction, united haywire skin
Shrouding clouds in ticks of flash of nostalgia
Meandering to suit the portrait that I am in
More than all I need
Mirrors darkness, you’re all I see
Resting your bones in my asylum
Fingers tracing your stars of silhouette
Dashes of daub, hewing a gray scale photograph
Sway like twigs in a hurricane, back and forth
Flicking spectacle, still unruffled
Things assembling pebbles of lucidity, swallowing hardest gem
Striking the road, burning red light to green
Someday, it would lead me back to your home.