me and them (part I)

chadwick

i love and swim inside unbalanced silver pools
cast down through moonbells all reckless
and tree limbs swinging haphazardly
on warm winds and riding rocketships
are the both

she is always there
and sometimes a lone swan too
her and her
with two and rare peace within these waters
they are crying again
with the reality i cannot but grow thorns
given bloody prickings
of raw empty flowers
for the transition into dusty sand burrs
and coagulated lips from kissing mouths

tremors

good shit as always chadwick - you seem to be on a poetic roll currently

chadwick

thanks, tremors.

but no i'm not on a poetic roll at all unless suffering, stumbling, crumbled or crippled. as of late, i been searching but no answer as clear as i can keep up with. none to slight nor enormous, all inside where i am or not does not matter none. to bad my reoccuring vacancies are far to often anymore nor with them beside me.

i asked if she wanted to roll and play. i asked another if she wanted to laugh and whisper. i couldn't run but she does beautifully. one wants to kiss me and poetry having crisp sheets to write. another, the same. each one more than i deserve, i am sure and i do weep like a child, the lot.