Blast it! All the ******* clocks,
I'll die if I hear ticking tocks.
All the fleeting, thoughtful lips,
Breathing down the slender dips.
I know the sounds of morning dew,
All my looming habits threw
My books across a crowded room
To show our cold, impending doom.
All these clocks, this passing time,
In broken English lacking rhyme.
Alone, alone, alone but tell
The fragile boy's abandoned shell
To hold the thought in neurotic mess,
And wait to dare what he confess.
There they go, breathe down the necks
Of lover's lost too far to vex.