Most often I slip into dreaming a reality
Surrounded with absurdity
And abstract absolution and functionality.
A world filmed in silence,
Where the black and white future reminiscence
Of untold horrific and haunting hand holdings
Are my only bane.
Where I can look into a pair of gleaming eyes
And find with every tic a surprise
That makes my unsettled heart arise
Without any sort of promiscuity or lustful
Over glazing on the perfect soufflé
And then with not even a hug given as a subtle warning
No forerunner to an upcoming silence and mourning.
Morning. Open eyes and wide lids. And forming
In the crevice of the mass, a single droplet
That rains readily into a queer laughter
As satisfaction slyly slips back into the fade

It’s a dream to keep the silence close
With those that, to me, mean the most
Looking longingly and knowingly with only tones
Of bare skin and cloth separating the souls,
The heart, and the passion

Once again, it’s the end
And it comes to an end
And the moments die
And you wake up
To an apocalyptic goodbye