sem titulo

maybe there will come a time
when clocks shave moments off the days
just for us
ice shavings off of seconds lost and tick tock tick tick

amethyst momentaries
cemeteries full of wandering lilac vines.
Could it happen?
Only
for us.

Anything for honest pastel graying eyes on grating lies that sink below the soil.
I’m not sure what my words mean always but
I know
somehow
they’ll mean something to you

webs and wires strung thin across a dozen years we lost.
We will never get them back.

I still go searching, sometimes
I still feel the pounding.

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