What we have is gold

Block karma as it seeps into the crevices.
High on me like supersonic agitation.
Suspended apprehension.
Giving time to wallow in the presence of now.
Born out of the very fabric you wish to tear.
July night, watching independence explode like a fountain of stars.
Too mentally exhausted to matter.
Collecting gold and the thoughts which shatter.
Everything trapped in glass.
Trading sorrys and eyes which follow.
Bleeding into tomorrow.
Cut down in its needling prime.
Dispelling cowardice and collecting courage.
You are sorry. (So at ease)
I still love you.

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