Necker Cubed Brain.

Victoria

She covers her hands with her soft face

Tears gardening the trees of her fingers

So she can caress her sweetest relief.

She runs and runs, a permanent chase

for what she once lost – sleep over which she lingers

Staying in the only place to live

and belong.

The violins of her confusion make the richest harmonies

– She's director of the symphony –

– I'm her only listener –

She finishes her rhymes artlessly

for which I feel contemplative, and lonely –

I may be a terrible admirer but I'm a terrific kisser.

And so, she takes a power nap.

Invites the monsters under the bed to sleep over.

And paints them with words.

Which I read, like a map –

Trying to make sense of what's beautiful, moreover

Artistic and filled with her own worlds.

Don't you see? She's my relief.

My breathing space, my sleep time.

Like the wind condemns a leaf,

To fly, to shatter in unorganized falls,

I fall with grace if I fall for her.

So she can pick me up. Look at me. Smile,

Throw me away.

And fly again – in opposite directions –

I wish I'd stay

But,

... yeah.

You're there.