a rope slack snug in a box
is just a snare without a tree.
the ocean is not the absence of oxygen,
just our ability to instill a sense of mercy.
the string anchored above the skyline only hovers
swinging wide if not for the you or the me
a flowers stuck a flower even if no one inhales it.
all our nectar still blooms the cruel breath of always spring.
a poem without my heart somewhere lifeless
is merely impure ink and slots of cacophony,
and my heart without your heart
(the place where we all know i carry)
my heart without your bright wallow swims among
the danger of an undertow & my wanton pulse
here comes unanchored and sinks, thudding
off in half-time, missing beats, only fiending
is just a snare without a tree.
the ocean is not the absence of oxygen,
just our ability to instill a sense of mercy.
the string anchored above the skyline only hovers
swinging wide if not for the you or the me
a flowers stuck a flower even if no one inhales it.
all our nectar still blooms the cruel breath of always spring.
a poem without my heart somewhere lifeless
is merely impure ink and slots of cacophony,
and my heart without your heart
(the place where we all know i carry)
my heart without your bright wallow swims among
the danger of an undertow & my wanton pulse
here comes unanchored and sinks, thudding
off in half-time, missing beats, only fiending
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