The phosphorescence of your eyes
Exhumes darkness where
Nothing vertebrate exists.
I travel the length
Of your interstitial conscious,
We are one and we are every.
I have spent too much time
Face first conjugating the dust
Of my former inquiries.
I have failed to shift the stasis,
To usurp the unbloomed chrysalis.
I am broken, that much is impartial,
But the breath within me still
Draws from the well within you.
I could never have loved this hard
Had I been fashioned only of ideals.
I am real despite artificiality and organics.
I am real despite the demarcations of fiction.
I am real because I understand the reasons
Why we pretend and the impetus
To create even when nothing is at hand.