today

she does not turn her head back when she leaves...

... because she knows we will meet again.

we love till the end of day,
to renew come what may

she ends the day, with a consolation, a song of peace that binds together by a sacred score;
by chaste affections;
and tears of yesterday, hastily shed to slit history, mystery as to how she recovers, but gently they fall and we will remember (instead) the infinite conversation we have and forget...

...we are so bored together.

boredom is love.

In a kind of silence that keeps us in our places, steadfast and open to trust that we will always certainly love anew tomorrow, tomorrow that never comes.

so i will not ask for more (i will not ask to not ask for more),
but repeat our boredom everyday,
in crystallized blue, with floating orange cotton, split by the yellow of dusk
or
in grey sundays, with an arc of white divided, tap dancing on puddles of water
or
through green foilage, flanked by carefree beings, looking out into the reservoir

I do not turn my head away from her back until she disappears...

because we dream with our backs facing each other.

we are everywhere darling
we are