nwI feel like I am always hushing and hushed with you
and now my throat needs a war built on all levels of speech.
To speak and slur and whisper secrets
disguised by itself, and one with demise.
Your eyes hold galaxies of truth
dust patterns that spread out and become the red veins in the whites of your eyes.
The blood -red and vast when it leaves your body
and the soul that becomes known when you are gone.
your native words sound better- the way they flow is soft like snow/ and melting so
your made up words make you up to me-
and you become a tall mountain tree that filters the winds secrets
adding your own when they pass through your green branches and needle leaves.
you remind me of something, and I'm so empty.
your May memory fills me with water and sun.
but long gone you are
i even dreamed that you were dead
dark pits of dirt are being built up slowly into a future.
Beginning under the level land//
Titled trees reach for you, the winds past pushed them to yo