out of the ethereal bliss
where you came from
woken by godlike thunder
from an aging grandfather clock
striking the twelve
while you see your hands
are without hands to hold them

afraid that the day before you
will open to reveal
a window of nothing
romance that doesn't belong to you
from others who make the most of their time
you'll retell this saying "lovers" instead

heat sticks to you
like a bandage which forgot the pain
peeling off blankets
wishing you could peel off skin

the rush of routine
where pockets of laziness
should be spent hoping
for that sign to be sent
air of relief flowing through your lungs
but it holds you hostage in patience

and if tomorrow and today
become one
cutting out vocal expression
something to resemble improvement
you'll take solace under the sky
feeling the surface of the earth
cradle you like a scared child