If I can hear the humming continue to
terrorise, sweetly – then I have forgiven
you. Moved on, myself a serious
pep-talker. The wait is killing me, for it has
taken the best of me, not you. You hold
the card, be it the indefinite, whether you
have gained those that deserved.
I burn my bucket list, only to re-write them
into a list of red carpet. No celebrity comparable
to it. No hallucination, the melody of my soul.
Cottonwood dabbing indigo honey, tracing your lips.
In the public, media and beloved fans – more
Transparent than paper rice. Yelling, screaming, yapping
But I don’t care – because you, the food to my spirit.