GROW TOO TIRED OF CONSCIOUSNESS

We yell at each other until our throats scream.The words (mean) and we know it! It is when we reach unconsciousness: we turn into sweet, tame little cats. Cuddle, we mumble sweetness, we love with honesty. (an accidental poem by kris of ZUPAdream)

THE FIELD BELOW

I’m sitting at the glass balcony and the sky is filling high tide with copper and lilacs. Small kids wear blue oversized football helmets and run in synchronized patterns in the field below. Now they hold hands, sweat caught in eyelashes (I’m guessing). They jump and spin and can’t stand still.