If we’re nothing more than fragments of a whole, then why do I have so many creases?

Bright light crafts its way into day, unforgivingly cheerful.
Like lovers past I lay in bed,
waiting for rebirth, darkening
a path through furtive memories.
Waiting, for elusive thunder
crackles my neurons afire.
Oh, won’t you stay?
We’ll push the night into day,
grasp at sweaty sheets,
inhaling skin, breathing fire in.
The innumerable consequences of love include the following:
a loss of wll, the absence of constant performing,
an identity crafted through
a turn inward.

Lapping at a bowl of guava juice,
the white flash of blacklight smiles,
coming,
the bare feet running loose.

A long and curious contemplation,
leads me to the following conclusion:
eliminate anticipation.