a limping raven the size of a god or the bird named for an umbrella, it was so large it must have been raining dogs. And speaking of which, there was a German Shepherd slinking around, looking for something to kill — must be the sign of the times.

But nothing was worse than the dream of my newly dead, beloved dog, and me picking up pads and towels with tiny drops of blood on them, like amateur Jackson Pollocks on a poor man's canvas, in a frenzy, like the ones, that are still outside, dotting the concrete across two patios. Seems I am always chasing death.

#poetry

It is like the second when your eyes meet, then you look away, and blush before blushes, the second the scent of skin seems to come over you because you move closer, but not close enough, like when a thousand butterflies land and come together before you get dizzy, and yes, swoon, very much like the time, walking arm in arm at night, when it occurs to you that you could actually faint, just before you faint, and the comets meet you at eye level, then rain down on you

#poetry