it’s never the person

who writes the letters

cause they don’t bring you

flowers and they

don’t make you wear them feathers

you don’t see them in the

part of a dark mythology

where you know a view in

a round-the-corner Grey alley

shows the nooks and crannies

of a mean scene in a dream

or a hard core death star metaphor

put your place in the way

of that person’s path

when it lasts you have

come across a stone road

and then you saw some

future you did not know

that you knew of and a

a house you saw but you

Keep to yourself because

you believed you could

have become the

owner of sunlight like a

gift from above

so kiss me you fool