Today is a mistake, an aberancy
of time. The facts please.
No.
There are no facts when you
love someone.
The day, like a Harlequin novel
opens. The goblet in her hand
falls, the flowers can't catch up.
Think of spilling love like
milk.
You can never save
the white oil slick spreading.
Tomorrow will never come,
There will be only 15 minutes
of night.
Memories
crawling into daylight
unexpected,
Finally,
constellations
slide across the sky.
The final ending:
“ your appointment with (sorrow) death
was always to be
here.”
Caroline Shank
6.13.2024
Agatha Christe
Jun 13, 2024
Jun 13, 2024 at 12:16 PM UTC
Today is a mistake, an aberancy
of time. The facts please.
No.
There are no facts when you
love someone.
The day, like a Harlequin novel
opens. The goblet in her hand
falls, the flowers can't catch up.
Think of spilling love like
milk.
You can never save
the white oil slick spreading.
Tomorrow will never come,
There will be only 15 minutes
of night.
Memories
crawling into daylight
unexpected,
Finally,
constellations
slide across the sky.
The final ending:
“ your appointment with (sorrow) death
was always to be
here.”
Caroline Shank
6.13.2024
Agatha Christe
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