Real Torts And Missed Opulent Territories

They were more like
watercolor washes
and the landscape
swished and swooned
around you like
a drunken sphere
and to drink it would
not neccesarily be the path
Nor have I been known to
stay on that path
I've strayed
I've strewn
I've missed my mark
I've been to the moon, man.
Should I take the
abode and share the
locale
would you share
Would you be nigh?
Maybe a sojourn into
the desert
the open heart and
cauterized wound
the mother earth
ripped and dragged her
led her away
seashore mist
and foam in my breath
the expanse of this horizon
I've left it to my better senses
sight within
and from a scene above
we were in those aged towers
speaking and scratching
sentiments of love
guarded and ascending
I don't want to stray
so let's lead each other
you with the pen
and me with the letter.