she was dressed with blue nerves and
just waiting to fall for it again.
it's her romantic fabric
and irony against an ocean's
worth of teeming innerspace.

the world and her trade off in
forgetting life's an ongoing art,
it's always a transcendent
dance in a real elegant ballroom
until someone has to drive.

never got rewarded with
the privilege of a morning-less night,
in spite of tireless efforts
to defy and thereby beautify
wars between sleep and good times.

she nestles a shoulder with
a vulnerability that can
seduce its way onto an
altar of raw energy and soul
beyond any thought or head.

that's the weight of an early
sunset in november tugging at
the break-neck and broken hearts.
ends up that conflict is what makes it
easy to feel true and honest.