My life has been the slow motion opening of an eyelid.
Time rewinded in the snapping of an aperture.
Every time the body dies, the mind returns to singularity.
Center. The source from which a new universe shall sprout.
From a fiery phantasm to the spreading of lips,
this beginning is the same on all levels.
Time is an illusion. Space does not exist.
Pseudo-space: The distance between two independent entities.
Space corrected: The overlapping of all dimensionality.
Relative Time: God viewed from every angle in a consecutive order consistently into infinity.
Time Objective: Splitting the atom. One becomes ten thousand. And each one of ten thousand thousands.
To the river, the ocean is flowing.
I have witnessed the birth of stars.

I am wading out knee deep into the evening's drinks.
I let my eyeballs take a dip as my wallet plays the breaker.
You'd think the woman had tourettes the way she tries to wink.
She flirts no better than the sisters who oft walk god's acre.

Maestro, another!

A black suit hammers ritzy tusks somewhere across the bar.
The waves upon the wires lap across my eardrum's shore.
My lonely, daydream doll is finally called off from afar.
I'm far too low and far too blitzed to enjoy another bore.

Maestro, another!

When I recall how we met, I transubstantiate my veins
with hopes to find a fertile mound to plough to rude degrees.
Too many furrows to recall, but still your name remains.
So, still I hunt for lonely moths who dance beneath marquees.

Maestro, another!

Why does every truth align with all the stars at night
only to scatter just as broken glass when morning breaks?
Every wholesome oath I swear to cherish all my life
melts with every dewdrop my lawn's unkept blades shake.

She sits on the sidelines
Outlined by shadow and smoke
Her curling p's and q's go unnoticed
Watching him wallow in darkness
Persephone and Hades comes to mind
Although in reverse
The ashes of her springtime **** craves the bright burning flame of his 
Unforgiveness
Coming on like a fifth street ******
Red lips and sky high thighs
She's got bad intentions 
His fathomless inkwell craves the sweetness of her embrace
We all aren't built the same she thinks
But she'd let him tap her vein
Violets and stars winking in her vision
His cold touch finally reaches her
Hot skin melting past his reluctant facade
It was all a game he whispers
To get you closer
**To make you mine