Familiar

You have gone nowhere I can honour but your pale ocean has traveled to the tales our prostituted people pack our devices with themselves earning their entire lives to flaunt

And there you were walking through the woods and the land should be grateful someone so unfamiliar is gently stepping their naked feet onto its twigs and leaves

I empty from my lack of control to not paint my walls with your colour you spill to the world but not my world where I can rely on my visit as reward for sustaining the season when I can find nowhere else to pour out my waste

Your thin layered display glass will empty in commentators but by then you expect your private curtain for who will look for more than a second; seeing your pure cracked skin, tall and light

And you will know him for having my eyes