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tom-mcconePoems
here, i've built up a collection of kilometers; a fever, written out in stains, coffee against fingertips; an indomitable anomie. this room gets messier by the day, it won't be clean come winter. spring. the day you decide to break down and call. there are twigs between these disheveled sheets. i'm stagnating. i'm fluorescing, only for you. only, you can't see it. just yet, at least. increments grasp in quiet moments. sometimes this clay in my eyes takes your shape. sometimes i wonder. sometimes i wish you'd come over. all times i fall a little further down. i've been here before. but not like this. drowning on open land. quietness by any other name. propinquity, or inertia. or simple lonesome. predictably, i lose dreams. you lean in close, eyes alight.
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Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
at fault
here, i've built up a collection of kilometers; a fever, written out in stains, coffee against fingertips; an indomitable anomie. this room gets messier by the day, it won't be clean come winter. spring. the day you decide to break down and call. there are twigs between these disheveled sheets. i'm stagnating. i'm fluorescing, only for you. only, you can't see it. just yet, at least. increments grasp in quiet moments. sometimes this clay in my eyes takes your shape. sometimes i wonder. sometimes i wish you'd come over. all times i fall a little further down. i've been here before. but not like this. drowning on open land. quietness by any other name. propinquity, or inertia. or simple lonesome. predictably, i lose dreams. you lean in close, eyes alight.
tom-mccone
Written by
tom-mccone
New Zealander
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
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