Must love caterpillars
because I’ve never been to a funeral
Not butterflies though,
they can fly.
Rapt with any.
Safety off, must love bitter
mind of a killer lurks in every kitty cat.
Navy and crimson don’t always make violet
but they always make god. Always
Can glances meet halfway and still mean the same thing
To view paradise through 7s and 13s through the yellow mist of pollen infested rain and thunder clapped faces it takes the eyes of a bat.
Heart blackening dust through the eyes of a non-smoker and the clarity of helium tainted dialogues.
Flirting with the fleeting desire of hazelnuts with a side of lightning, the cocktail of virgin schizophrenics.
Low tension, backbreaking suspension into the missed ledge that sprains you at the bottom of eighty-six.