We are mist;
perhaps an ocean or glacier
long before or after we’ve tangled,
but mist in the only pieces of time
which will ever matter
We are truth-confusing lies,
though all we fool is one another
Not a single bit of starlight
would ever think to tell us apart,
because we weren’t meant to be (so told)
We are nothing,
and the value of nothing
becomes everything for anything which exists
whenever multiplied;
as that is when it erases the world
We are not long for warm days,
but we’ve a chance to crash
small deaths into the shivering
wet of each sunrise we share
Lust, don’t leave us now
We are cursed
—cursed to be wondrous
—cursed to bleed beauty
—cursed to survive the long partings
Oh, how worth it we are, however…
whilst we exist
as mist