I watch the work of my kin bold and boyful, Toying somewhere between love and abuse, Calling to join them the wretched and joyful, Shaking the wings of their terrible youths, Freshly dissolved in some frozen devotion
And to ease this confusion, Iâll wander the concrete, Wonder if better now having survived, Jarring of judgement and reasons defeat, The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth I'm alive.
















