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Mediastinum

by firewoodpoetry and the creat[er]

 

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What's the point anyways?
"You're impossible to love" they say. "I know" I reply, "but you love me" I say. "I know" they reply.
The attempted ways of a curious you, digging into hollow and fumbling through. Cravats, opened, closed in and buried too. Candles in the dirt just for you.
What has love done to you dear one Did it leave the little broken branch on the path you never took Or did it leave you. Did it hold you like a fog that settled and dampened your bones. Or did you hold me.
Counterpart. And continuously dreamt about. Two prices and settled bet. Photo by @dimavern
Preliminary A photo by @dimavern
On the verge of something. There's no fog hiding the desires I've harbored for so long. There's no need to be lifted high, there's no need to be brought up. Not when I'm free from the illusion of what it means to "win". We have all won already, and I'm so glad you are with me.
Another lovely shot by @pldh.photo at the legendary ciliate art show.
Put a lid on it and watch it boil over.
Haunt you
Respectfully yours.
The loneliest thing I've ever seen is the person who can't see themselves clearly. That twisted mind, wrapping vines around trees and squeezing bark and leaves. Validation and justification. And over the years, the wind and the rubbing of the vine, break the bark, circularly. Edit by @fabienbelcourt

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