Member-only story
Now, You’re Here
When the desert clouds eternally went to sleep,
in daytime,
you came flying with stars falling,
it’s midnight,
trying not to catch a moment, catch a breath,
but falling apart,
now that you’re here.
Shallow and safe,
in forgotten resources,
mind-altering afternoon’s winds, rays caressing sand dunes,
and it’s warm,
my body of water,
gently sunkissed,
now that you’re here.
Weathered southern storms,
we’re heading north, circles-sailing,
frogs leaping over Archimedes principle to loosen liquid dreams flowing,
self-providing rewards,
upon independent social fasting,
away from your open-door homes.
Blue eyes expanding into a wonderous vacuum,
something triggers the left side of your mouth to foolishly smile,
left bottom cortex, awakened reptile, needless to survive,
sunbathing, basking meanwhile,
in nothing to be resolved but silenced stress.
Stoic whispers, what else?
You’re alive.
