At most this is an overzealous attempt
at gratuitous self-expression.
The geography of the human spirit
is half-desert, half-tundra.
The most epic blunder one can conceive.
I’ll make a believer of you yet,
I just need a plan and a reprieve
from today’s vast humidity.
Dusk arrives with increasing rapidity
in this world of 28 suns.
It’s my love for you that unfurls
the tapestry of indecision.
Six drinks and eight revisions later,
I still don’t have this poem right.