futile vanities to play with your senses
(shame it only lasts so long)
crackling breaking snowy shards
creamy pottery remnants
once a work of art that bred much pleasure after a life spent in hibernation, naiive solitude
(shame it only lasts so long)
the calendar may remind
the streets at night may taunt and haunt and leave you breathless
but the eggshell remains are under your feet
solely for you to crush

-cj