in terminusyou say my timeline is infinitesimalby DrippingWords
when compared to your hourglass
anatomy; a never ending cycle ticking
time away like a metronome, and
again gravity refuses to bend for me;
i cannot see the fault lines in our skies
any longer. my crystal ball is cloudy,
filled to the brink of destruction --
your broken words and the obscure
misology that is to be our fate.
TelluriumCradle your fever head, sweetby counting-vertebrae
spin me into your pirouettes, dear;
write me into an anthem.