New Lease on Resistance.

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Hello grand sun!

Humid cause? I am sitting in the perch, in the craft,
and the shadow that once descended like a midnight
forum has crept away... It isn't you, my darling,
sweet star softening on a yellow sphere; it isn't you
that roughens this inflection, these strong persuasions
within the somewhere (and if) of where I began.
I'll say perhaps, perhaps, since the conceivable nuance
of tongue and teeth is a vulture waiting to arrive, like
an evacuation of permanance: the tangled run of...
hesitation, roads and vines? A question of contrasts,
of brightness, labyrinths, am I just one?

I'm not the singular wallow, the lurching of a confused
vanishing light, sunset... Three days have passed
like clouds that contest an animating breath,
your lips devouring the cause beforehand, before here,
almost four years, intelligible time racing as though
a celebration aggrieved, a lighting of candles
that needs no glass to protect "them" from the wind. Amiss,
skepticism vaunted, yet hiding beneath a gilded veil, beneath
artless oily legs. Your sign, a crossing of hands and palms,
a touch being sampled, tinges, and felonious thoughts exposed.
I'll apologize, my dear, when the drubbing resumes,
when this naked habitation edges away like hard skin
at the bottom of one's foot. This is my timid side, you'd say,
the point between my toes that feels
no impact from the greatest of steps.

Please admire the mirror and send your favoured cajolings!