a storm somewhere on the brink of infinity
where love is sand, blasting against the face,
a passionate embrace of the grains with the skin,
swirling together in holy matrimony, blood – communion wine,
falling down like sweet tears, blind rain.
water washed away by water
as the tide comes in and out,
each wave a new beginning,
a silent backlash
against everything that ever was.
and sometimes prose isn’t enough to describe all i feel, sometimes every story must have a little bit of a mystery to it, an excerpt, an addition to it.
i won’t explain why it is here, why it was not published yesterday or how it relates. it is the little mystery you shall have to work out for yourselves.
but if all else fails, just take it as a poem, because that’s all it ultimately is.
a poem in a sea of prose.