each tempered by slivered moments: slovenly on the floor lay tethered, both, separate, honest light.
when it is time that you do not see anymore, the shadow of my passing,
when the twilight gives rise, a felled star in the world,
when damp kisses are beleaguered by the driest of lips,
out of merely, a wide-eyed vainglory, there will be nothing that all my songs send a dancing, tiptoeing light careful to arrive at one day
when you face is held with utmost care and my hands not its owner, but a handful of names.
when it comes that we are two fish struggling in a current's dream β not a single twitch is born. you will slip past the interstice of love's net and i cannot see you anymore in the depthless blue.
the intelligence of stone tells me nothing but silence, hemmed in to a great monolith of daylight.
i exaggerate, the sinking of ships and amble blindly with the whole of my motion, like flotsam weary of its preordainment. portraits sow themselves battles, cleaving them minutely against the simmer of quiet. when it is time to let you go, i will watch you leap forth into the ripe air like a child seeking home, reiterates in flight a height i cannot reach for.
when it is time all of this, mote it be, clenches in thinned streaks of turpentine, all of my walls will be clear and not a sign of your colour will scream pain like a tortured vandal.