iced oolong.


the cold-whispering,
slow-wilting,
flower-flame.
still aglow.
still a-growing.

i feel we have nvr traded
or given any pieces
of ourselves unwilling.
the gravity of my feelings
to you has given me a
shield too strong.

i am increasingly
isolated in my head.
my life has become
skins of false colors.
i wear a cloak of a
blue sky with clouds and crows.

a light grows in me
and i am surprised
that when i speak,
my voice still
sounds the same.

godlike imaginings.