Sleeping With The King Of Tome

the distance
if not for life leaking in
somehow becoming tragic
makes time pass slower
the wind blown by
like a firework into
air
falling against a rival sun rising fast
and desire...

babe, would you call me?

the face on the wall
trapped inside the clock
laughing like telescopes
someday promises
deigns to forecast hope folded
smashing doldrums

sometime in November
your pale face
your still embrace
some endless reminder of
what we share
in the
space.