f(r)iction

Time is a vacuum,

And the friction of passing

Seconds

Is boredom.

The smiles and eyes

Of the past come

And make loneliness real.

The jade and shudder of plants

Or the overbearing sun are both

Powerless

To fight against this rot.

A drain in the world

I am trapped in my body,

It is not a temple of good or divinity.

I am a ghost tied to my brain with steel

Wool,

That can never leave until the Sleep.

Untouched, unfelt and unhinged.

I roam within this white picket fence searching

For a way out, a way into you or

Some real life.

None comes,

Or you do,

At least.

Life is longest in the slow moments we

Piss down time’s drain

Only to beg for more.

Dripping sand

The night holds us

As we dive into each other,

And nothing outside,

Is.

I die little deaths

in your arms and

Between your legs.

I drown for you,

I work myself to death and

I jump from such great heights.

You catch me and hold me

And save me

One night at a time,

as our hour glasses drip sand.