The last love letter
We were just children but child I was and the exploration had no merit. Who the fuck did i think I was? I couldn’t tell you then and I couldn’t tell you now, but brief as the breeze may be, I found the universe sometimes only moves where it’s being watched, foundations burn like stars and memories dance like the blues under intoxication, like the blues under intoxication, like the blues played inside of you felt before I dispersed in your detoxification. We are a fog of existence, matter of minds, minds created by and creating matter, I watched the quiet around you as my selfishness fumed and I haven’t looked at the meaning of all this the same since but I learned that maybe the meaning of all this is just purely creation and dispersion, creation or dispersion, ebbs and flows of destruction and inertias. Respect must be given where respect is deserved and blessed is the matter you manifest around you. A child I was but children we were. Somewhere a hat tips and a smile holds — a sorry you’d never ask for, but one you deserve