succumbing to the insanity of Love.
Two weeks of yearning buzz,
flutter in the chest
while ivy struggles for clear path.
Two weeks of living,
incomplete, drenched existence
Meeting oneself on a muddy track,
holding back, not holding back.
A jungle of a life time when
eating an endless dessert of tinned plum,
I turn against this instructed combustion
and welcome clean and easy light,
a glow of love without the eternity.
Calm the drama
rest the finger picking
and wringing of old bells and hands.
Be still bee’s
you know your queen,
a string of life lived,
a little plant growing through
a brazen crack.
Two glorious weeks of crisp sheets
and windy nights
and peanut butter
and coffee and yellow dog and paint.