Poetry of a Conlanger

Sunday, January 15, 2006


There’s a kind of euphoria
That comes with this weakness.

I’d far rather breathe this
Smooth molasses air
Than any brittle slew of particles.

I’d have this singing honey
Swim through my veins everyday
Instead of coarse, sloppy blood.

I’d gladly melt like sugar
In this warm daze
Rather than be alert and caffeinated.

When walking becomes a dance,
Yet I struggle to move something
Other than my racing heart,
I know
That the hue of the world has changed
Simply because you’re here.


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