Trial, end terror.

I um, yeah.
Sorry.
Life drags, exists.
Toxic, impure.
Yet baptize, exorcise;
as a phoenix flows through combustion.
Sorry, the cope yields a challenge.
In a step will come change,
whilst ego defaults worth,
admitting false reign
over a usurped throne of synapse.

cherchez la femme(or: she knew the room was, and so also – i)

the fall towards love was bright, quick.
it was your posture, shone in breadth.
that maturity, adjacent with – the wine in hand
confirms a justice to experience.
and I hold you suspended within the realm of a distant gaze.
because I want to meet you, and cry, and laugh.

as a tangible tangent,
we are the universe.
yet my source does yield,
knelt to your flux,
as a dumb curious love.
your – skin – is – the solace of my vision,
as the platonic pact – of lark
and breeze.