Being the you in the I
In the eye of love
Bruised by the cross
jagged bowl of hearts
Jigsawed in the lining of your
fingertips
Hanging on the life line
of your thoughts.
You sit cross-legged
two inches away
from my thoughts.
Bruised be you
Be our future together
In the never life
The never coming
of the undertaker
Ticking away
his booze
be caught.
Be caught in the afterlife
Of who be it and who be me
Entangled in what should have been
Trampling
Tumbling
Tramping.
In a closed space of four boxed walls
Enclaved in the cluster
of my tomorrows.
Never-ending, so be it
Never-fading, be it still
Trampling Tumbling Falling Tramping..