And the murmurs never cease,
And no, they never stop.
Like the tides are never still, beaten by
A Lunar light: roaming recklessly, perpetually
And the leaves entertain our mud-shy paths
As the rain induces hankered laughs
Yes, plants forever trying, and the farmers dully sighing
And fires slowly burning, licking skin that’s softly yearning, for
Wine forever flowing, its lust-filled grapes are knowing, of
The groans, they never halt as they dampen crumpled sheets

And though I’m never
living,
And though we’re always
dying
My body walks, gladly breathing sin
My mind is wrought, encased within
Four white washed walls,
Water slowly falls,
weeping gently down
the tiles.