wrapping you tightly around my wrist.
a blissed out alien filling in my body
in which there is something so sure
to miss. eating in eyes of constant longing
in time, you and I are matter
clock struck molecules
seconds curl into you. minutes last.
never would I have been able to mix this art and craft
pulling out of us. pulling blankets around
the underwhelmed bed
you have me.
heading east with the mid body
living rib cage xylophone
empty air kicks at the growing
crack laceration on my heart
this novelty pencil is digging the depths of me
single week passing with lost sight of light and shadow
a seven day descent crescendo
where words fall sluggishly
into bucket end.
a sonic curse of the calender
marking rapture,
to measure a heinous break of ritual.
you and I, in time.
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