Christ’s faith in love lay bleeding
like ashen clouds still burning on a liquid soil.
He {.procededTo} shut down the anti-glare screen of my new laptop tomb,
and through the flames let me feel him exiting the orange brick wall to reenter the rugged livings’s memory lane long atmosphere.
_ Do, or do not, touch me with the rumble of your thoughts, how would I recognize your face? In the end you know that dark is right but become complacent with the idea. Let me coalesce and then tow the blackness out of your heart to the paralleled regions of our minds whose non-existent codes are about to get processed by our digital sudden osmosis.
He soothed the jaws of his soul before sealing them. And then raided the solar charge in a single motherboard’s whisper.

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Publié sur Instagram, archivé dans la région des stories, lewshima, le 16 avril 2022