you can be lost and directions
will fly out of a stranger’s mouth
you can stumble and a
hundred arms will reach for you
you can say the wrong thing and
everyone will hold you harmless
you can cry and many will catch
your tears and cry too
when love is a habit
you find gifts on the trails
of misfortune because of all
you’ve handed out to others
isn’t that the way it should be?
like doll plastic the face shines eyes sealed the body posture is not sleep fully clothed it lies at attention in the perfect receptacle for unmotivated discharge so many ways to read death no trans
no such thing as a botched attempt to love its splendor is its awkwardness its stock rises with a stumble it rattles the consciousness of routine makes it strangely fresh and first-time even its failu
I can almost see your soft spots we all have them like a newborn’s but no longer physical hidden on your infant body of emotion yielding vulnerable naked untouched the innocent areas oh don’t