what it means to be lovely
is not necessarily what it means to grow up
peter pan and wendy
write book after book
but we are wrapped up in the beginnings
and not the current movements

the inconsistencies
are what make it worthwhile
anyway.

alive is something
rain twenty days
so i wont forget
that speck of sunshine
arms other than mine
are what matter the most
cuts and scrapes
to mark my presence
(i havent fled the scene)

hush and help.

we are alone, certainly
i cannot create words or pictures to erase what is attempting to eat us alive
but somehow we are granted the option of stepping together
i will dance with you tonight
the end is coming.
'what do you mean, what do you mean, my dear?'
we are unlucky fools who have been given a taste of grace
i am ready to go back for more
i am ready to go back
and forth into something we have both been writing
you are gorgeous in ways i cannot always decipher
one moment i am growing, stretching higher
and the next i am rotting away.