No one, to you,
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Talk about run-on
My words have been forced down
like soup and cider,
and we might never know
the meanings behind those
quick glances that
(in all honesty)
have become equivalent
to long-drawn stares
solely because,
between the increasing awareness
of that muscle in my chest cavity
and the sure slowing down
of the secondhand,
our silent passings have become static eternities.
like soup and cider,
and we might never know
the meanings behind those
quick glances that
(in all honesty)
have become equivalent
to long-drawn stares
solely because,
between the increasing awareness
of that muscle in my chest cavity
and the sure slowing down
of the secondhand,
our silent passings have become static eternities.
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