in the still dark of the qua night
my house as metaphor for imagination
decayed in the history of my being
I watched the monsters down below
hop on the death express to make their cancer dough
so many ways I have perceived that view
sometimes on top
sometimes below
but at this moment it fades away
as I sink into her smile
and what it actually means to make love to her
vulnerable but strong strong but vulnerable
why has she not called or text?
my conflicting emotions of caring and not caring
I melt into the picture
and think of what it means to lie naked to her
and how I see her
the soft shaped brown eyes
with the blonde hair dangling
upon her shouulder
in the still dark of the qua night
these are my thoughts...
