2035.

These late nights are full
of yearning and restlessness.
An escaped solace.

2034.

We are all hoarders
when it comes to the secrets
in our histories.

2033.

If only our shared
loneliness could create a
person to fill it.

2032.

My ribs are filled with
empty rooms that just reverb
back this heart's echoes.

2031.

Finger paints mar the
cusp of beauty in divine
parts ineptitude.

2030.

Such analogous
splendor in the balance. All
sides remain offset.

2029.

What purpose does a
heart unkept have other than
just a slow beating?

2028.

A thousand lures of
flesh. An eye's feast made hungry
by slow seduction.

2027.

The sun spirals its
own hypnosis in the sky.
Mere mortals, beware.

2026.

Want confused with need
as acquisition becomes
the only purpose.

2025.

Slaves to impetus
over choice. Breathing robots.
Fundamental base.

2024.

We're all such lonely
creatures just dreaming for some
sort of connection.

2023.

Sometimes I wish words
could be manifest as their
meanings. Vowel salve.

2022.

Your eyes cast outward
like constellations. Beauty
and myth, out of reach.