Close your fuckin' eyes. Eat a fuckin' peach.

I keep thinking that if I peel myself apart

offer up everything I've got

that someone will sit with me

in that special little place

in my rising Pisces Land~

Laying on our backs on the belly of the champagne clouds

Eating drippy peaches with our ripe fingertips

Licking the flecks of dew from

each other's chins..

I keep thinking I can feel the vibration

so close, so close

in my belly and in my toes

But there is a haze that covers it all.

The clouds are simply wisps here

Like the product of an impatient artist and his brush.

And my heart is so simple now, but still

It is soft

too soft now

Bruised from too many fingers poking at it, checking for tenderness

Bruised from too many drops from too high up

Bruised by choice.

If I could just stay in the clouds or on the ground...I'd be content? Maybe.

But I am both here and there

and I guess I take secret delight in these sort of things.

I am tired though.

So very tired.

A tired that my eyes refuse to bow to.

A hunger that refuses to be fed, like a stubborn child twisting its neck.

Close your fuckin' eyes. Eat a fuckin' peach.