God’s wit

in between the green of the grass,
hides my soul made of glass.
as from a dream, my eyes opened to it
and fully admired                   God’s wit.

The sound of my laugh echoed
and on her skin tattooed
the word future,
a painless kind of suture.

‘i steal your hand made of leaves
and you steal mine, we are thieves.’
now i lay void,
as all bad is destroyed.