a love that seldom is

was once intimate breath with


now those shores of glimpsed


are untraceable

are washed away fingerprints

i was once that clue about to be

opened and the horizon tipped into

for all it’s burnish it’s tempting flame

charcoaled now with regret

now echoes are rubble

and the spire inflicted with such

absence as to bury deep as

a soul can me fathomless in an


once was sure as a mountain stood

now a confusion of splinters

when will winter cease it’s lure of

deathlessness and acquired stillness?

when will clocks bleed true?

when will yesterday break?

will that breeze like breath of

delicate petals be rediscovered

or the universe let to hollow itself?

(why is that honeycomb muscle

treasure less for the rot of time to exist?)

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