From Old Town Tipsy

Tired.
It's Late.
I'm inbetween places
and drunk and just sad.

But I wouldn't be letting you in
if I wasn't the least bit
happy, too.

And I am.

While Stumbling into a Sanctuary

Twirling gold murmurs around me; we are
peripherally interpreting
the lines and lowering
defenses. Here. We project
a sense of lecture, conjecturing thought
and dream.
As cadence overtakes
the fury of the outside
the anguish of the mundane
the taste of the truth of fear,
we breathe the calm
and our minds become a heart.