in the hours of after
within the focused now, the rain falls slow, springtime blessings,
switch the soundtrack to a stormy solvency
if ther was nowhere left to go, but here would you pay the price of transit fare, awaken through false pretense, embrace the catalyst within...

i was never one of those girls, with her heart visibly upon her sleeve
...always veiled it w/ incognito fabrics, flowing and satin that barely touched the skin beneath them.
....yet still it was ever there, like nipples under a dress, a breeze bringing to attention their exquisite existence...
the heart makes a silent imprint on all whom i touch,
as their imprint is also upon me,
sometimes like a lingering scent,
sometimes a casual whiff of curiosity..
...&never being evident in sensitivity,
i always admired those with an effusive and open temperament
firey dispositions and charismatic transparency.
 it's a gift to determine the most successful way to live under the weight of understanding,
wading through the growth and the lessons
and teaching the heart nothing, ( we are foolish to believe we truly can.
the heart is its own marching band, the bass line a powerful magnetic funk
( &regardless of how well you believe you protect that sleeve, always finds its way back to that place of naked ambition.
finds its way to rise, to unconditonally strive, to surrender without any suspicion of wavering affection.
when does the time come in your life,
when you realize its time to get naked- strip away the articles of fashion that adorn those places in which your heart makes its home
sets up camp
if its on sleeves- go sleeveless
& just wear it like a warrior's armor.
naked but for that lovecharged uniform of courage and grace.