Been waking up with the skeletons of troubles on my pillows. The demon-ry of it, can't seem to make the senses feel right -- can't seem to understand it's tangible true source. What of my great thirst? Somewhere I left that wild yearning behind in a traveling course or a heartbreak -- somewhere in between all of those ruptured things.
And outside the snow just keeps falling, keeps breaking the hopes of spring -- always thought the whiteness felt like everyone's icy dark parts mystified. Like loneliness falling. Seems so haunting, especially tonight, the hushhh sound of it. The sharp cold. This hard, hard town - it takes from us.
What of the great thirst? The piercing kinetic heat felt at every choice and every night, and every thought of answering the questions that we share to embrace one another's existence in this place. How I long for the longing again! The warm sweet dewy breathe of the season and of ourselves inside. Wish it would wake me from this heavy hibernation that locks upon every thought before rest. Wish it would be, and be, and groove upon some fabled dance with the passion of all.
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