What’s different today?
The fog lifts and slips into the vents, circulating and awaiting their return.
Or maybe it’s in my head?
That must be it.
I’ve exposed myself for something more,
in light of your weakness- all I adore.
Silken skin in the porcelain afterglow- the sun rises on the porch regardless.
Regarded as dead to you, my morning glory is more horror story, and I expect you to forgive me.
I am the dew and mold, collecting in the gutter amidst my aimless soul.
Please take me with you.
I promise you it will be different this time.