incomplete.

our love is
still confined to
a kind of tetris jail:
the right space still does not exist

————

maybe i’m trying to plant flowers in all of these dark spaces
and the emptiness of naked temporary promises

———–

i can’t shake your faith:
so resolute in your allegiance to practicality
only entertaining our version of a 90 minute fairy tale
long enough for Sunday to come again so you can
go to church and renew your religion in pessimism
and drink from a cup half empty
finding solace in triumphing over happiness with the
mask of logical reasoning

…

to be continued.