Sweep me off my feet.
Give me something to believe.
Lead my tread down
the cliffs,
that slide to the sea of sorrow.
It's been a long time
since I felt
the salt sweep past chin
and tumble onto breast.

Grief has become
the shadow of a lodestone.
Losing none of it's mass
and increasing in density
as it sinks deeper
into the inky mire of hurt within.

SO...
point the way
and off I'll fling
flitting from the night
as a moth to the light.
Limerance: live life lively;
take pictures of passing photons
and break baked bread together.
Lift wet wine that washes
and paddling;
pull, push positively
towards the theo-all;
thus thanking tomorrow.