Who am I

without the memory

of jusai

naked of stories

without believes

Just a passerby

The middle phalanx of

the middle finger of

your woman was the

measurement for a house

build

Now it's someone's standard

you don't even know

These thoughts sit on my face

skewing my divine geometry

The flowers will die

the tea is consumed

snow melts

beauty wastes away

That's why I gather it

with hands, my being

my body. I want it all 

to be here now. My favourite

pause, besides you

There are places on my face 

that take me to ancient ruins

overgrown with jungle 

Black&white ashes, b&w stone

black soil 

the whites of my eyes

The secret to failed relationships

is in the void between what you need 

and what you are being given

So did you learn to recognize

express and shamelessly create 

your own needs by now?