March Thirty-First

A verse calls forth
The story of a fall
The trenches endless,
The tunnels twining, a-lined
With grazing hands
And oily fingerprints

You may grin tightly,
You might notice a slight sting
Of two desperate eyes’ contact
Daring not look down,
Black marks often threaten residence
Perchance, it’s okay if
You hold. You hold, and you hold

And you scrape,
And crawl,
And coast where you can
Believing it your destiny
On your forearms and shins
Broaching raw and ragged

One need only see
Relief once, these sweet words themselves
Would rejoice and learn to hear
For what is it to bask in?
It knows naught but one great ocean
And to thee, I have but one question;

A heart shared divides worlds into one
Glittering magnitudes can shine light
Into cobwebbed corners
Forgotten nooks harbour forgotten lifeforms

The great urge
To recreate all but
The greatest love poems, maybe cheaply
And to believe oneself worthy

In all its grandiosity,

Could it really be ours?