Before

clever softness molds my breath, skipping into the doubted muffled sounds... are you visiting today? Came so harsh the wind that you forgot your haze was lifted and returned to the last, filled with holes that were broken through by many who spoke your name, but did not know you in any other way. Perched eyes viewing pass the details and tiny, printed marks; punned by steps, that where heavy in one place, but not all footing; leaving separated sentences, that when gathered, still leave you blank. Have you sipped the drink I left? Filled with murky, darkened, visibility, the type in which you would regret if tasted, but would have felt the strength of doing so. Powerful and imaginable, cause your mind can not reach pass too creative things... Pausing to watch a woman scream, watching, cause you do not want to hear her cries. What would they say? Would they fleet out in alphabetic, English letters, to form words, and if read, would they glide and venture upon your face, trying to insert themselves into the openings of your skull; so they may enter and twirl inside and remind to recognize, that you are standing in the dead off night, waiting for her whisper in this wet street. A street that has no pavement for you to follow, and no light poles to help you see. what where you before, you came to me?