I wanna see your face.

On a Sunday morning at 6.

Unmasked, unmade, summerly sweaty.

Asleep and awake, going back to sleep.

I wanna see your hair fall freely,

Taste your skin,

Touch your lips.

I would find—a piece of who you really are.

I imagine this wonderful.

An old withered sign

A whisper in your ear,

words unknown,

language unspoken,

pure lust,

pure pleasure.

In Ebisu, Shibuya

And related to this, but coming from here.

For all the words I want to say to you.
I cannot say to you.
Yet, perhaps.
Words to tear us apart.
Words to shape worlds.

Tiptoeing on ice.
I’m so hot I melt.
And what do you know.
Temporarily feel me.
Momentarily be me.

And let me be you.
For some eternity.

It is so good to know you found me.

Lurking in the dark.

In a history.


Throwing thoughts around.

You found me.

Where I tend to find.

I was found.

This just may be a first.


Find me.

All over again.


Words got stuck

Need to unstuck.

Emotions frozen on grounds on fire.

The world ain’t dying

Only what we used to call humanity.

I look forward to re-emerge.

You wanted something real.

And you found a quite place.

You looked over your shoulder, but not ahead.

See, it’s ok though.

See, what you get.

We are here to protect.

Your path leads you right now to where you are.


Westworld 3/1