Callus fingertips misplace the skin it leaves behind
the aroma seeps, so thick its visible through a pin head’s spine
climbing, the wretched stench covers the layers of the sun
culminates at the tip of my thumb
humming at my eardrums with an angels harp
despair feathered from the skies in water shards
Pressed against my blood the floor colder than ice
spacious with echoes, no one’s been here in nights
the sun in hibernation all the time, while the moon
plays to an empty crowds eye, setting a empty mood
the spaces between the hills feels like a life time
and the touching of the air is something I disguise
black nights that spill over in a countless effort
fearing the shadows, clinging to the edges like sport
the thickness of the breeze is almost a substance
as the black uses it as sustenance
and why not..its in abundance, a perpetual dance.
But thats perspective in a glance
beauty in the beholder
ill hold the city up with my shoulders
cleaning every boulder
spit shining the grass that border
fine tuning its song within every chord
composing the shore.
My home needs acceptance from a familiar audience
A native son familiar to the hills and the river
Ill be the bravest one as the land breaks in fevers
I have an honest intent to repent the rains trying descend
the city never looked so innocent, the trees never smelled better
the rain never wetter, the water full of flavor.
the flowers feel vibrant and vivid in the dark.
I can see the smell…I can taste the bees.
shes still beautiful to me.
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