worth
for that one single minute of silent words and more silent explanation
for that one single second of your attentive magic
for those hours spent glazedly gazing through worlds of meaningful nothings
occupying cells not one’s own
arranging a subtly delicate touch to remind the mind
while seeking and searching to find a dampened match,
needing a strong enough
spark
for the ignition with which that chord is struck
and three hundred senseless bodies judder
for what it feels like to feel again
when little spry secrets drip from the washing line
of minds and mines
for when the dots miss their connecting lines
and end up on the 12.44 to Who Knows Where
instead of There
for exploring the minefield of textures
to ascend the grass banks and lightly rise
petals liftingly falling from ground to cloud
for casting illusively shapeless figures to the wind and
aspersions, inspirations and no limitations
hushed to its calming airs
for the endless search for the perfect sleep…
night and day.
each and every.
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