my clock— synced mere seconds past yours, carves a great chasm we fail— to match everything at
just never quite knowing how to be a person— my formative years wrecked by white-out graffiti a brief glimpse of that
sunlight pours through the trees - I stand to watch as light kaleidoscopes through branches,
lying in our bed in a wet towel awaiting your arrival— just wanting you to want me— every part of me for one solid hour
a deep chill delving straight to bone fragmented shadows become full figures - long and lithe,
weepy, faraway freak under imaginary interrogation lights— they sear into clandestine melancholy she has tried so hard to keep it c…
there’s something in the air that speaks to the piercing rain - some giant, flailing wisp of inter… the dazzling electroshock of occas… sprinting spears -