like clockwork you invade my heart. seasons of my ego. feel hurt. I do the same thing I accuse others of. Admissions of guilt. My sanctimonious hypocrisy. Crossed wires, stitches of a patchwork quilt. Matchbook stilts. Two Kindred Spirits flip-floppin out of the cosmic seawater. Twin flames igniting the very foundations they built, melting metal, whose kinship is but a dewdrop shared by wilted petals.
The Realm 