Till the day we die
tiny words upon our lips
our eyes drill into the unseen
for us to create what will become.

Late in the day we find
a sunset too soon upon us
rushing down a hush
before our world bloomed to life.

A young impetuous boy
terrible with temptation
taunting the audience
daring them to discover unwanted secrets.

Made sullen, weakened
drunk and unvictorious.
Ripped by a wave called Timeline
that was more monsterous than his provocations,
making no exceptions, just anhilating all without predjudice.

Suntea ripened and flatend
before we could attend to it's invitation
the afternoon sank without us
taking one moment to cuddle amongst ourselves at dusk.

Now evening lolls in, black shoulders knudging
peircing lamps outside disturbing a softer natural dark
buzzing us, alien energy stimulating our eyes, our humors.

Someone orders a drink, and the night becomes lost
as his mind fades to forget his tiny, tiny words.