Drowsy Clouds

My peripheral vision

is slowly being consumed

by dark, slithering shadows

with monstrous beast-like claws,

resembling scaly, serpent-headed men

with black wings and ghost-white paws.

The imprisoned air reeks of old asbestos & sour gasoline,

while nostalgic hints of firewood, chocolate and marshmallows melting,

make my brain crave the liberating aroma of sweet and tangy kerosene.

My skin crawls on all four of its legs, so I am inclined to ask you to pet

my limbs until they settle as calmly as a lonely sun setting behind

drowsy clouds preparing for bed. Yet, amidst all of my intricate

defects, I have finally accepted the simplicity of happiness.

It’s the sound of rain. It’s the thought of you smiling

between the same rain drops as I. It’s being stuck

in the exact same rain, beneath the exact same

sky. Our way of life must always be to make

love in the woodlands so we can educate

the wild things in the wild things we

humans enjoy enjoying. To prove

that our passion for intimacy

as a species is capable of

building a world free

from mindless

destroying.