[Note to self and those who have been drinking, et al. : I am a thief. Only because I knew you would second guess your offering. I had to take it. It belonged to me, and now...]

I am editing my life ad nauseam,
but while sitting in emotional diffusion
I find you inside this moment.
Reminding me of life’s elegance,
kissing me with your essence.
But you can never know,
because it is in conflict with our existence.

Incandescent is your contribution
colliding with my dysfunction, balancing me along.
But I want to shepherd your imagination to my world
where we can muse and fuse, inculcating the darkness
with wine truths that intoxicate our improper reality.
Recovering the tastes from our past lives together, re: live.
How else can we connect so? There has to be history,
intangible, allusive and celestial as it may be.
Even in our most tenuous of breaths, I am secure
and connected to the purpose of this time phrase.
Hoping to never exhaust the invention of our interface,
I remain open to its spiritual notions.
Unsaid and unheard, but felt and uncurbed.
Even though, you can never know.

I stand present, in defiance of what is unpopular
yet in congruence with Vadzimu’s choreography,
allowing our spirits to be conflated ad infinitum.
Let us share our residuals with the emotionally destitute,
maybe we can replenish the barren and disenchanted.
Or inspire a new calendar of moons for Hyacinth flowers to bloom.
Either way you can never know, because I am a thief.
I have stolen the moment to (re)communicate
that my heart is in your possession.
Hopefully you will be at the next train stop,
still fighting my procrastination.