Radio Waves-

You’d fall for anything
that opened itself up to you.

Flowers, hands, the hearts  of those you’d meet in cafes
or cobbled streets,
you’d try
to figure out their names, only to never see them again.
And you thought it beautiful,
to live for moments caught in an hour

You yearned  for summers  of slow-dancing
to songs spinning fires on radio waves.

Twenty Years Later  I am Still Going Back Home-
I have built this city out of rain.
I have watched it from the floodgate,  the riverbed
I once tried to make a home within.
I have built this year into a bridge.
I am learning to throw away the matchbox, to swallow without catching fire.
I am learning that to build is to burn in a new light.
There is no use for this fire in my hands anymore.
I am crossing the threshold.
Epic Word
She's got that devil touch, apocalyptic lust.
I Swear She´s  Not A Sinner
Just Beautifully Broken