Life’s Disease

He is standing there
On the edge of my vision
With mine eyes in his eyes,
My body the body of his hands.
In a clean forget he will
Soon take up his life and walk.

He cloaks my essence
In a delicate wild thing
That speaks for me when my
Words escape into a watchful sky;
Where stones disappear
Into a silken sphere.

Torn in a prideful burn
He preys tiredly, and weak
Until the rains rain drowns
Us both in a mindful sorrow;
Until we break and cry
Into the looming moon.

Do you get where I’m coming from?

I know you try.
Talk in drunkenness, but otherwise
our sweetened speech faces
death to my odd visage.

I want to love.
My soul; alone in the wild
thirsts for recognition to be unloved.
Do you get where I’m coming from?

Your face of one
resurrects my mystical dream
of moonlight kisses and winters breath;
be bounded only to a wish of sleep.

Your tears look bleak.
I do not understand, what is, not numb;
my intentions are well.
Do you get where I’m coming from?