can you not smell the potent fury
as it swivels nicely into a misconception?
smothering sharp retorts with rubber
and plain speaking with detail
a fine cultivator of rebellion
...your picture
...quiet euphoria
you have to wonder about the folly
collision of colors
a few featherings of white
either add character or
completely mutilate the perfect form
there is a stillness at dusk where
everything waits for the first intrusion
that signals the beginning of night's choir
in that moment you can not erase me
but I can wrap illusion's warm blanket snugly around me
and forget you
if only this state could last longer than a simple
blink
then the colors smear and reality intrudes
I find myself lacking and you