In dad's empty bed
To the calm of thunder
And rain on the shutter.
The cloud light streams through
Solidly, miscoloured red.
Somehow brick red denotes something.
It is a feeling, against a hardened exterior.
A collection of the miscolored, and ill-fitting
But the wall is brick red
Gray skies, and streets, rivers and people
Somehow I always walk you at 1am
Hardly a difference at 1pm though
With gray buildings, gray birds, gray puddles and souls
The heart beat discolors itself against an ambivalent frame.
Gazing on endless wave crests, fractalizing in space and time, tantalizing me to create rudimentary models. The surface merely a projection of the depths.
Though I try to know the peaks and troughs, the biorhythms of the waves, and I dance not because I understand. Soundless wave crests emanate from my feet too for someone to gaze at
Even winter sunsets
I see pierced skies
In new company