To “Jackfruit”

Last night, sipping nectar from the crowded stars,
This morning, laughter beneath lowered eyelids.
Seawater washes the dyes from a brimming heart,
Some crystal pendants, fall from the arms.

Seawater—a pallid woven scarf,
Tired of expression, of pouring itself out.
Time turns corners, upon the skin,
Slowly ending in breath and heartbeat.

If destiny beyond could never be chosen,
If existence itself proved futile,
A hardened shell can enclose the connotation,
Yet drown the unknowing eyes.

Perhaps exhaustion is a kind of rebirth,
And ripeness is an honest, quiet disguise.
Perhaps life never held right or wrong—
To live is simply to willfully forget pain.