if you deserve
honey
mine will flow from my arms to yours
no effort, no asking.
but, if there is none
and
you feel wind instead,
know
that my spirit already
knows that
when you see sweetness
you
begin harvesting blades in your hands.

Everything seems to be only a dream and it is as though I were letting the dream go on talking at random.

There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.

What to do with all this inner?