(A Slight Tug)

Sweeter than poison rain
down my storm drain.

More graceful than a passing dove
landing in a frozen frame
on the branch of a family tree.

More belonging than me…

Information gathers at the tips of wits.

A type of rope by a blamed name
and the street starts and parts the same.

I read myself in a remembrance.

I watch the time to forget this,
but the time doesn't forget me.

It knows the keys I played in reality.

It hears the depths of misunderstanding,
and smiles…

If it could...

If only it wasn't made out of that ******* wood.

A branch breaks in the forest.

It doesn't care if a human's around to hear it's sound.

It's saplings whisper on the wind.

It cries forever having to begin
being born all over again.

A lover slips into a questioned bed.

A send off by any choice
could make me feel quite sick.

It wasn't the petrol that glossed the nerves...

It was the flesh of the skin.

I marked a remark before it knew it wasn't going to begin
and passed up my opportunity for a distraction that leaves me (alone).

A gift goes ungiven,
but not to a friend,
and as coy as a mouse,
it doesn't forget to say thanks.

Thanks.
Thanks?
Thanks…?

Thanks For what?

I'm grated and fried
all within a why?

And I await,

Frayed,

for the final reply...