that is.

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the rest of an idea emerges

from cycles

fires flickering

and a gentle listening,

you have a knack for abstraction.

a whim never comes

from necessity.

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the fleeting delight of recomposing,

in the dance of moments,

finding light.

a pause

in chaos.

a breath of grace,

in the quiet, a moment to embrace.

that’s him.

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your senses, an insight into

injustice

for the wraith

of the world

core of the message

a synonym of power

and the sharp pleasures

as to turning

into a show

that’s him.

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too strong, a beacon bold,

might be this soft

untold attractive   allure,

we take a chance.

for it,

for our    stubbornness.

the whisper of thrill

in grasp,

you’ll find fluster-

intimate comfort.

because we work

through    diving ourselves.

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looming our prestige

to the creation

to the peace,

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and we giggle.

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that’s him

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get me away from this,

only to find more

talent — craft.

relief, to have this pretty realization,

shouting in the void,

a waltz

in the heart’s strange symphony.

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that’s him.

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my sweet meltdown.

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that’s him.

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poem written by me.

cover image owned / edited by me.

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