These shaky neurons–
they bleed and blur.
I live somewhere in between
him and her.
The smell of coffee
and a wet dirt floor,
or your perfume still permeating
where you were before.
And sometimes, I don’t even know
what I’m doing this for;
I’m just symptomatic heartbreak
from someone’s slighting score
in their battle between themselves
and their projections, of course.
But, it’s a damn good thing
that I see the beauty in lore;
because, even a hunter can disappear
and become a flower, transformed.