Etched, in the valleys of the moon, staring from or to. Blazing the night, The autumn heat returns,

My father talked often, of what went wrong, who his father was, Who he is as a father, Long drawn out conversations,

I remember youth and senses, the smell and touch. Fascinated by breathing, in and out. Sunday walks,

It takes balls, hell, it takes every inch, to keep spinning. To talk of flowers, or the death,

The doubt of spring, makes winter warm, when all is cold is now gone, The sparkle of night, and the seasons change,

I couldn’t think, of anything worse. From the outside, Looking in. Draining your soul away,

Wake to the sun on fire, a wandering wisp of a dream, In it’s forgotten desire, a candle… as a sonnet sings sentiment as bri… What is a plum situation,

A drink. A sip. I sip you and you sink me. The empty bottle, is the saddest sight.

There’s not enough time, Not for seeing the world, no no But feeling alive, To hold your friend when they weep… For being in a hole,

She reminded me of women, I used to see as a child, at family gatherings. Tired, not quite steady,

She blazes and burns a beautiful m… grabs life’s hand and drags it wit… Never too close, to love it wholly, Yet close enough,

You have to, jump in with the sharks. They won’t eat you, unless you let them. You dodge and dive,