Lessons In Semantics

I have the threshold of a cold-water faucet.

I am neither lilac nor woman!

I will always miss the sun, even when it fails.

Shuffling through plastic attempts at wine is when I am the most uneasy.

Deciphering between critiques of hell and plateau is when I am the most at peace.

I will candy a divided verb once I learn how to.

I am less at dawn. I am more when breaths between hums are synced. I am always blurry.

I have the bargaining skills of a devil, but I repent now- never through sonnet.

Lusting over similar hardwood and peaches is when I am the least rubbery.

Studying reluctant grunts is when I am the least behaved, and I could write about it if prompted.

I am only counting when I digress about old pollen, not reminiscing.

I will forever be in debt to lessons in logos, and the homely men who pretend to listen.

I have no real climate. I have the fear of God instilled in my limbs- for which I will always apologize for bluntly.

Revisiting worn landmarks with fresh concerns turns me on the most.

Following the veins and scuffs and talents of an audience member’s itchy maw gives me the most incentive for loyalty.

Encrusting worries into measured routine is natural and committing half assed recounts of other peoples’ yesterdays is exciting and respecting the wariness of should-be obvious harm is difficult but rewarding and cryptically begging for sympathy always proves to be folly because poetry’s existence emits tolerance! I am a buggy, static excuse for a fire but verse provides the appropriate lenses to discern any fire’s tints! Jumping out of reddened nightmares just to be met with my notepad’s sleepy blessing is the most solace I think my scrambled-egg ass brain will ever need.