Drop me in

I step outside of myself to forget—and to remember.
Sunset politely undresses herself above, blushing all over.
Her colours melt together like summer-kissed scoops of gelato.
Delectable sensations—
I harvest all the sentiments that speak of your essence.
Clouds seem to have embroidered your name across their navels.
Only one deficit pleads a redo of these minutes,
for beauty doubles its charm in the hands of companionship,
where longing then expires quietly in the bushes,
as if its bitter existence bore nothing but futility after all.

The word "mercy" oscillates on the tip of my tongue.
I both feel and crave this word in my life like a long due embrace
that waited evergreen forests of horse treks to finally arrive home.
Hugs and mercy seem to marry in meaning and in effort
in a way that ribbon-wraps me and spins me giddy with relief.
I'm afraid so much of the time, and I strive to half-forget the feeling,
the same way that I half-forgot how to ride a bike after 6 years.
So why can't I become terrible at fear?—
I wish that I could paint a river down the yellow line of this street,
and you could drop me in like that song that always puts me to sleep.