I need something,
and it three-dimensionally matters.
I need your presence,
your where-with-all
state of mind
that finds my brain attractive.
I need your reactive, proactive,
retro-active embrace
to pull through my past luggage
neatly lined in my
cerebral corridor
just like it was air.
Like no parcels are even lying there.
I need your stare
warm on my shoulders
as I empty those vessels
to make space for your
goodness.
I need your words
and actions
to be brutally honest
because they three-dimensionally matter.

He was my needle in a haystack.
I had no idea.
This gloriously cut diamond
floating through the inter-webs
like Sylvester's Magic Pebble.
Hidden among the
quaquaversal happenings
of what is my life.
Holy hell.
Timing is everything,
and nothing,
all tangled together
like yarn knots on a shelf,
awaiting their metamorphosis
into mittens, scarves
or vividly hued tree bombs.
Even yarn knots yearn
for needles.