You were just a baby when you learned to smile that way; perhaps you never found it rather special. I'd call this the second day I opened my eyes to see what many only cough up and call a cliche; I don't mind a cliche.
And it was rather tragic, those shaky finger nights, when the whisky bottle was kept next to the bed; trounced by the tides of my tempestuous head. As I lay pinned by my bird-wrists the conductor swore, "If you give up now you're done for. An unadorned Lenore, sparks spitting fast from tracks, fragments flailing through the black smoke of a train wreck."
Sometimes divine, something beyond your control: When tried I came forth as gold.
When tried I came forth as gold. Creeping through the veins of river stones. My own heartbeat asleep under a blanket; I'm going to dive into the haystack. Because beauty above and beyond our own making
It has been resting as it has been waiting.