You speak secrets;
you tell me
what you will
share of yourself
and it is mighty,
an oak in a field
of blighted wheat.
You speak of love;
you offer it forth
as the child does
the short-stemmed flower
to the mother,
perhaps imperfect,
but impossibly profound.
About Catastrophe Jones
Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.