Fragments of conversation,
In cluttered heart so old,
Sidestepping those thoughts that glow,
A memory made, kept, sown.
Identify the constellations,
That crowd out flaccid hope,
Braiding the nervousness,
Brevity of soul.
You could become the middle of the song,
A pithy Stanza, frameworks of preciseness,
Trepid eyes in reflections,
A vanishing tempo, safeguarded.
Like tiger strips of summer growth,
Past a lawn into the spilling wilderness,
Livid to untimely interventions,
Love---has grown.
At the edge of your telling lips.
Unusually.
