It is so easy.

It is so easy to pin happiness to you
to waste health and time with you

You go so much deeper than this
so much so that at the bottom of where you really are
,at crush depth,
anyone would wither in and die in that darkness.

So fine, I can't survive down there.

I love the light and air up here, where games are played in the sun with fleet limbs and laugher.
Without constant doubt, with out strings... well maybe with white twine in the webbed-form of a cat's cradle. With abandon. not thinking of the control I could wheedle, or the supple clay of your state...

I could manipulate. And, allegedly do.

But that is grade A, home-grown, sun-ripened, horse-shit.

Open, open, open, open wide.

Truly, it is not your fault, it is mine. Cause I could say "No", I should say "No". Then maybe you'd realized it is not about control: what you CAN do.

In your room, burning Sage, burning tobacco, imbibing red-wine, singing, laughing and kissing. And even with those heavenly amenities, you must have control. Test the waters; tell me I suck at the romantic arts, you expert you. Push me away and pull me in, just cause you can.

I'm leaving. You are in the bathroom vomiting.

And all the world should know that I wasted all this time.

So if my heart bleeds out and, in the crafted words of Homer, death takes my eyes, I will have only myself to blame. For I wasted all this time.

"All I ever wanted to do is hang out and have casual sex with you." I repeat as we linger on the side of the road.

That seems so easy.