fate flickers,
and twists
your nose.
again.
desire burns
all fears
away.
joy
tickles every chore
histories of pain
mold and rot;
while the same
sweet memories age the soul,
like wine.
no success awaits,
for it
has always been
here,
next to you, holding your hand.
will you not take my hand,
please?
theDeprevation 