it has always been my nature to look at life through Holy Blue spectacles.
its a modest way for me to really read between the lines.
the story is always a good one.
the faces I read seem more enchanting these days.
the smile of one chapter after another left deposits on my fingertips.

(delphi...)

damn me for being so reserved again.
so secretly cryptic about it.
an ocean of words and emotions.
six fucking strings and all the time in the world.
three pedestals.
one ascending.
three faces all in one.

(Mari...)

construction with less ceremony.
more bubbling in the cauldron and far less reflection this time.
this could work out in my favor for this instance.
i do understand the canticle it makes though.
filling up and filling up and falling over and filling up and filling up...
'my cup runeth over'.
but is it in any way more enlightening?

(della robbia...)

is it in any regard more swaying than the lull of a pair of lips?
possibly maybe in the way they so selflessly clutter themselves...
in sentences, quips, metaphors, and experience to make me feel better.
i could show them this pair of eyes.
i can show them how to dance this ring with poise and reckless precision.
but i don't think they'll understand?

(i believe...)

sanctuary.
one circle.
i'm sure they've seen it on more occasions than this one.
but i dance too much already.
carelessly, daringly, capeless and spiraling toward the edge.
The margins, the blue and the red, the ledgers, the napkins, the blanks and the cluttered.
i wish someone else to explain its rhythm to me this time.

Given.
Unremitting.
Fickle.
Invariable.
All these things,
all these things,
all these things...
oh mama, you told me it would make sence.