the earth lifts up
each day and each second
passes by like a
thunderclap of experience
and all is well yet
the previous moments lost
are a dreary and precious
and deep complication of the
knotted times,
compared to now.
now is a vine
long and finite and flowering
in the jungle of green
luscious touch and only one
constant of a growing
togetherness that is a
lightning kiss that neither one of us
could possibly have
been better off without;
a foggy
stormy root that has grasped
a growth that improves and
strengthens, as its petals and
nectar do.


About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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