fond memories

We've sunk all our armor, and walk light and free upon the street. The florist waves to us with a cache of magnolias in the crook of her arm, and we sense the beauty of this over any other place.

But there are people scowling, at us and at the world, their are people who are still breaking down heart doors and shoving trash into the sacred room.

We have become has fine as any friend to the mysteries that haunt you until the end.

We searched the annals of the subconscious for reminescence in retrospect, then we grew cautious when memories poured in like thick snakeskins.

All the overtures are left replete beside our beds, all the time in the world marked centuries with our golden beads, and you were the one restless to use his key, you were the one who wanted to be free.

Leave them their illusions, they need them sometimes to dream about better worlds parallel to the lands of the dead and damned, where when you go walking in the woods, you won't be seen again; where when you do what you should, you're only a little better off than dead.

She is the one to tuck our light inside our breasts, she is the one who crushes nightmares like insects with the swirling hem of her velvet dress.