sleeping,
then sensitive to
the stimuli of you

that's all that happened
nothing extraordinary
if that's what you believe,
then its true

i am just a reflection of you
a whiteboard of projection
make of me, what you will
blind, imbued..

with realities of time
it's passage, the fade
your face in my mind
discount, discontinue
the delicate divinity
of a rare occurrence,
a kind...

of "something", somehow
different, because it was
but what does that matter, mean
if all is just a moment,
lived, torn through,
then left unexamined, unloved

in the forego of the flower
for pursuits of a personalized power
that lets us lessen,
the "lift up" of the light
to continue, chaotic,
the frenetic ever faster feeling, fight

against the tender, against the tides
the want for us,
release from the shadows,
we hide

your stimuli
simply ignited
somehow, so sweetly
skin sensations,
i could not, here, deny, then

i simply shined
and shared it, before you
your stimuli resistant
averse to mine
wrong limbed, your insistence

true, or not
the simplest explanations
for some of us, the demand, unmet
to vanquish the valiance
of the value, be forgot

easy, in the absolute
"of course",
we all, stimuli
in some forms,
another face before you,
no remorse

but that's on you,
just as what's on me
is your stimuli, I'm sensitive to
and the mark you've left
even though not replicated
me to you
i wouldn't change a single thing

as your stimuli, back
i sent it to you
a glowful gorgeous
an ember, a spark, awake, a light
honorable, anew

so what you take of it,
what you do
says only everything and nothing
all the same,
about the unknown in you

all your fears, all your forgets
all your need
for the denial of yesterday
in the name, the game
of what comes next...

"get it, got it"
your stimuli stressed
and mine got stuck
those rooms, those days
with you, all that mattered
was your presence, not so much
anything more than that,
or what came next...

so different worlds,
along with different limbs
experienced similar ends
but strikingly dissimilar begins

some sit still
and some, they run
some get lost in realizations
of one
while others they move,
ever faster in "on"

never stopping, take heed
the heart, the stimuli
of themselves or others
laid or left or lingering
inside

the love for the lie
or the lie for the love
preferences predicated
by the stimuli
we choose to forget, flourish
frown or focus

upon.


bowen hart roselli
1 october 2020
ringwald love