lights precesses against smoothing-out concrete, dawns like these. red runs down and out my twitching strings, puddles on the brickwork gathering about every footstep. trying to make myself a little more like you. a little further away. a little less dizzy. a small crown of wilted lilies. woke up feelin' somethin' similar, taking a collection of successive moments erasing all wishes my lips could ever graze pastures you stitch between snowmelt watercolour blinks and the sugar in your navel and (well, you get the idea). glacially, i converge to some semblance of divergence. stop wishing a second to next. what good are wishes? what good am i to you, at least yet? with heavy linen, i'll mend. i hope you see me, beautiful as dawn, wide-eyed, mauled by no icicle; and increasingly lament what you could have had, honey