As zeptoseconds strike
their matchsticks against brick
walls, the pith of this waxy
body gleams.
Stiffly unsound in its granting,
vitally huffing its gangly ghost.
As heavy in sound as the weight
of the world unmoved, trying
the vault of heaven.
Scaring birds across the parables
of clouds, eyefuls are swept away
by closed lids.
Wedged between dreams to ooze honey
fuzzy from the bee's buzz.
Of freshly aired confessions
that pre-box their black, after
violently shaking the perfume from
flowers to place upon.