INhale

these days sleep on aoristic beds. daedal daisies on the covers warms trust underneath her pillow. as she sleeps, a fyke catches her dreams, night after night. the seeds remain, growing an olio of petals in the hollowness. morning after morning, though her eyes open without sight, her heart begins to awaken with grok.

feel

"it's weal", the girl said
"real", the boy asked
"yes it is real happiness" expressed the vibrations through the sky down to the ground for his heart to feel. "it is weal"

see-sons

"decaying leaves fall off
catching butterflies"

the feeling is raw. it is bare. and yet there remains layers and layers... as it is when we speak

;

planets retrograde in motion, gaining momentum to shoot far over the highest bridge, crushing the eyes to reach the orbiting light. ex-plo-sion