History is what makes us
Who we are, allows us
To be who we want to be by
Giving breadcrumbs, giving something
To search for ourselves by;
Posts published in “Incomplete”
With reluctance, cold & slender, to others’ abodes did I surrender, stricken, feasting on the gourd’s sweet’ innards,
“We,” when one.
We held hands outside my parent’s house,
Hoping the night would keep us from the world
And we could chase the sun’s shadow together.
We saw the falling of the queen’s star,
Giving us the unique which can be common
And the
As my body’s blocks fell,
Tumbling
you effortlessly pulled
Them out of air,
My body,
Blocks but rounded,
Tumbles from itself.
And you,
Softest hands & eye,
Sweep me up by palm,
Placing head ‘low heels.
He loved the establishment,
Though only enough to enter
Through a faded wooden door
Along the side of the bulding,
Between the corner and a
Neon sign lit, “FOOD,” where
The word, “Fine,” had been
Turned off.