J Mills

Love is Not a Bumble Bee Trapped in a Wild Flower–

Quite some time ago
I woke up
My own drool-drenched hand
Tucked under my face
I still smelled
Like the previous night’s sex
You remained on my fingertips
While I contemplated
If I ever truly wanted to hold you
In the palm of my hand
The notion seemed too restricting
And grasping onto you
Not an act of love
I’m sorry if I ever
Made it feel that way

Typical pessimist talking about the world ending-

Lazy bumble bees and weeping willows
The sun rests upon the day’s hope for renovation
Dusk invades our cores
The same way history repeats itself
Blessed by an ancient moon
Shouting wisdom into empty faces
Is anyone truly listening?
If not today, when?
There’s little time left
For redemption