Sturdy pin, firm grip.
Grenades blow graves, but I’d still catch you.
Vision dim, bite your lip.
Detonate, I’ll choke your skies blue.
The man in the moon would fan the blackened plumes.

Ultra violets, infrareds.
Sighs trip triggers, what about inhaling?
Silent violence, signs unread.
Slip alarms, I’ll do the validating.
The sandman will cheer your quiet midnight parading.

Inflated balloons are always brightest,
but what about the tension?
Like God without an atheist,
striker absent at an intervention.
I’m not throwing this bomb; I won’t let it go.
I’d empty my inkwell, every pearl from the clamshell.
I’ll collect the shrapnel when you explode.

This isn’t done yet. I’ll finish it someday, though.

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