sitting comfortable in this darkness
this cricket backgrounded quietness
this ear scratching cheek rubbing
this i'm in no hurry to go to bed
there it is there is the cool air
i was promised i always wanted
i exalt in quiet ways over this fresh
i respect inside my skin this taste
coming here to be tasted aloud
what moment what thought isn't
an ****** whatever that is
coursing us forward imaginary
companions fluffing our need
and this ink sticking you in time
is skinning oaken barrels of being

today is decanted among much fanfare
samples doled out in small glasses
sniffed and quaffed i think in style
enriched by not missing

it is misdirection we invent
to defy the coarseness of seconds
when we should be exalting