a love that seldom is






was once intimate breath with

another




now those shores of glimpsed

touches




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

abyss




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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