steal my bones, i've never been committed to memory
only following trails and scrape marks
sparse heavy wonder
silk fine tuning
swarms of marine lives
blue fractioned farm frill
the anvil is a lightweight
meticulous paraphrased excuses
tempting for the eager to fill space
spanning time, as someone once spoke
where will you find yourself
in the lonely halls of the company of men?
snug, fit, coarse, inquiring, fashioned and young.
naivete is our solace,
our soft blanket
comforting and temporary once we leave our beds.
sides and preferences, compromises and settlements.
i've grown tired of my indents, slacks way too loose
tight and derivative
these conversations came to a pause.
oh, to wonder.
to drink, half empties and fill our glasses with hopes.
droll, folded clothes, suitcases packed in our heads
with nowhere to go.
soundtracks and films in foray.
i don't want you to leave, but i need to go.
undo this backspacing.
swimming backwards, no eyes on tomorrow.
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