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Morning Song

Golden hair is cursive written and fallen on her shoulders again I connect the stars by cell walls locked twilight.

The light in those hallways underwater rays, flying backseat, the adventures began with our stolen airplane dissecting cloud-courses plotted backwards for luck...

I in back wake up by feeling, transparency gauge of rhythmic stolen kisses off the wild wind throughout your hair, slipping up down on my face forever.

Imagining what unbelievable light a morning song.

Sorry scream, precious stones are my pains brief solid it motivates me to sit up in bed quickly, why I, again only inside movie theater dreams.

Empty chamber, it is de-evolution noise that comes with wind-turned pages.  Oh my God, kneel you do to wooden scraping... nothing to scare, inevitable the resurrection of my passions.

It will always be two-letter words in the time I fall asleep, but how can’t I lose my beliefs of holding like a whole lantern a buzzing moth in my clasped hands and if all points exist within the non-expanding infinite, it is defined by its own encapsulation.  Filled to the ribs.

The act of being, any hope I had of not experiencing life kinetically and reading my thousand folded evaporates.