space-maker

for love,

and in love

I dwell in the

chambers of the heart. . .

the penthouse w skylight,

rooftop terrace,

and basement under

construction,

in these

for stories

I keep the

love letters of a life

–some tied with satin bow

–some written in blood

–some love’s opposite and

all of them verbose.

Papered walls

in vital rooms,

I pump them out

to exist!

prose not so much graffiti

as it is script

–dictated by Muse

it’s curious he

flubs lines

when

without him

–there is no

blueprint.