page after page of old self discoveries printed in case of a virus
ink, only as perminant as dry keeping, keeps days like today somewhere other than inside my mind
somehow i find a sigh among the breathless-ness that is me
but these sticky moments are better smothered to avoid residue in the corner of frames that display the images in my mind of what we become when moments are our own, cheeks rosy and anxious
reading what i wrote in days like these past, i find simple pleasure in their glory
the day they were the newest to be read
now burried at the bottom of all the thoughts soon after
such dramatic drops of a cry within to leave me where i am posting from now