Their evidence spans proudly across my face;
rigid timelines, wrinkles of grace,
drawn in sands of love and hate
as I introspectively commiserate
how the many angles of lies and truth converge.
Verses colliding at breakneck pace– while
traversing raw corners of personal space,
dissecting the fragile slanted slivers
where fragmented possibilities openly flow
throughout her delicate delineated form.
Written in longhand, but often short;
the silhouette of a thousand worlds, I create
definitive boundaries for my human place,
yet rounding them out for give and take,
while unboxing and boxing my mental state.
They travel impossible lengths to release my soul;
modern designs borrowed from old–
an immeasurable periphery of quintessential,
on that marginal page between each empty space,
I’ll be walking a fine one—
until I know my place.