Unpause

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What if my blink lasts an extra beat more
Unintended, I cannot explain

What if while this, my inhale I implore
Is reality seeking to feign?

Gravity, come, take your match by the hand
Ether has waited for this

Fluttering eyes, staccato breath
So much words culminate in a kiss

Aching Sunday

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Tremendous love, resides inside

As an aria
Weightless and burdensome
How is it that such fullness
This nothing less than aching
Arrives and leaves me
Walking
Feeling
As a ghost on Sunday
An otherwise fine, fine day

And there are no ears to touch?

Ranking

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Space, the enemy
Distance, a demon

Molecules collect between us, acting as some referee to our match
Banished to our corners before the fight begins

If these lacerations and these mangled bones, inflamed, remain this slow to heal
If Winter wishes to outrank

Then we want our angels