Take two minutes of your time and two parts of your heart
in the misty morning fog as the islands drift ever farther apart
away from anything that might reincarnate me
up and into the instances of serenity
under the stars of impermanency
the firmament falls, so let it be.
Be ruined; you can never be
ruined. I try to tell you as we drift ever farther apart.
In the observance of an off brand sabbath
White mountains upside down and swimming in shallow mountain streams
a world in two parts
and the perfect imperfection of your heart.
A perfect stranger
is what you are.
The dark of night is as solemn as a catholic church in springtime
and as pure as a primitive baptist chapel
one room, white walls, and no organ.
Old trellises on dirty stone
dragged out by horsepower
when my grandparents owned yours.
God knows how old these walls are.
Flowers in beautiful places
clinging ivy with white petals
twists around your ankles
to never let you go
an iron maiden holds you close,
closer than I ever could.
A life in two parts
like cracked eggs and crowns of gold
children fighting over parents who will split in two
like Solomon was wise.
You don’t believe in love and i don’t blame you.
You don’t believe in you, but i do.