The First Attempt of Admission

Love legs ache to touch, yearn to be pulled by the scraping of skin.
Against a blanket and revealed mattress, “miss” comes to mind as you remind yourself
Not to miss the irrelevance and squishing of seconds- all will turn into years as you miss,
Miss the shot to make a move; a piece of plastic fights its way to a metaphor,
You are the crown and the empty space was once the golden ring,
They tell you: The ticket not to be missed.
But what’s in it anyway? The legislative longing for rules to pass for fair forestry regulations and reason as dying salamanders attempt to camouflage amongst chlorophyll and candied flowers,
Dandelions whisper in the pages of describable grass: “go miss go miss go miss.”
Freeing, as one acts upon the cold slates of academia,
It’s hard to not smile when the letting go has already happened,
And the admittance becomes a sickening reality.
You are not where you thought. Years later you still have opportunities to become what you became on paper.
The toes sprawl from sad thighs, and step out to make another attempt to ace loneliness.

It’s the deer and you, dreary dear,
Face to face stark comparison
Man versus man, two and four legged
Yet whom has the advantage with dark machinery lit up by eyes of rotten power?
Yellow defeats green in the primaries, there is no left or right in the woods,
No black or white within the revolutionized creatures, smarter without words, instead their irreverence to a man with a gun, or a pair of curious eyes, or an empty canteen refilled by a lack of svelte shapely torsos and the other seventy million sins,
Take your cardboard god billboard and make a mine, pardon a mind,
To your winding roads of ignorant footpaths, if you manage even to walk.

Share my breath, my love, two chests barreling onward through minutes of sparkling darkness, with you in glimpses of futures and wire-rimmed furnaces,
Telling miners stories from photographs,
which still make you itch with resistance to care.
Pillow me, softly as does the moss to the ground, unshaken by bouts of infestation,
Willowy and curvy, like sunset roads endless to tires and songs.
Contact me, signal something similar to sunshine on sand,
Sing your pleasure across oceans and find the fingers that type you these words.