Some fairly potion got me? Seems like habit.


Am I jealous of time, when you seem living?
No, it exalts me to see it flow, unfettered.
With my love, you go, to far-flung pastures,
friends, and parts of you I could not fathom,
with my un-intuitive role, my stomping maleness..!

You feel free. ‘ You will do’ ? Good, it makes me happy!

Some nests are sacred. Guarded. Else, they turn to dust.

Yet that rusting cart of travellers old, speaks future through the present;
it grades, into the ground, as all her-story, past, and once impassioned.. must..?
So circles finish where they start, you’re lone retiring; but intervening joy is now established, formed.. still fragile..?    I trust.

What comfort in the turn of seasons, eternally ethereal;
when the dear beloved, accepted, honoured,have slipped to
some final, harsh withdrawal, some absent, no-where rest?

You, who abjure placebo, deal frank with your sorrow.
I, who am placated, medically, just fear the same sad, solo tomorrow.

Because I went there yesterday. To see who’d follow.
Beware such larceny (misprise); this is not reason you borrow.

But quiet solace. Of a passing hour...If I think you exist,
then I can see you by the bower. (Can you see me, love?)..
So sweet, so vulnerable. Is it in your power..
to forgive me?..    
                                                       jimtom. Pray with all his heart! say.x.x.