As I tread upon weary blades of vert, my worries undertow
I think of creation that sprung forth long ago
If Eve to be an afterthought of man’s needs, what would that make me
To live for another or to live alone, both stroked with bristles of the same tone
In a realm of Epicenter’s design, why do I only plot this path of mine
Could Source forgive my desire to know all, the urge consumes entirely that I am
Falling placid step upon trippy heartstrings, stoically wiring a face only my consciousness controls
Happenings certain of what I may ‘perhaps’, gold inlay my precious cracks
Maintaining, clutching the hand of the ache fate gave
A sexuality posed Aromantic accusingly calls me maliciously frantic
The spirit of Gemini materializes participants whose eager eyes I do not recognize
And with these copious queries storming my mind, the only vowel I utter is
Why
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A Room With One Window
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