She asked me once if I considered myself to be a good person.
“Yes,” I said, “with the right cocktail and company any of us can be deemed good.”
But to me ‘good’ is so lackluster and overused that it might as well count as bad.
Call me the break of twilight beyond a downpour,
Or the moment in which a star bursts into a supernova.
Call me the fire that licks at the setting sun,
Or the sting of a page drifting across your fingertips,
Even a rose at full blossom, only a day from it’s wilt.
That is where you will find me and all of my ‘good’.