it is 12:02
I can hear the bell at the mission
it's holy alarm
beats of your syllables today
you, my midday meal
I'll likely starve
but you're feeding me numbers
less & less everyday
thinning 'till I binge on you

I've stopped seeing clearly
this lack of oxygen is absolutely thrilling
I'm just a crow in your intricate pinfold
however beautiful the build, careful
I am locked, without stretch
& somehow you are free to roam

I only ask to rest on your arm but you've been claimed by dogs, honey.
I'm not one to fly around heads either, i'd rather rest in your trees,
but trees don't grow in cages and I use to fly with my eyes closed before this.

as temporary as seconds
& constant like a calender
I've always hated math
I can't count on numbers the way I do letters
but I have smelled you on every numbered page
& I've been counting down these days like hail
waiting patiently on your storm