Infrequent winds push heaven
nearer
to the brink of collapse
We miss what we have
then
You edge closer to the door
the narrow gap of departure
Beckons
Close
slamming my thoughts
Against you
Our hearts out of time
From beneath our shadow
young minds twist
towards the light
cold, black, white
The weight of it all
Too much to bear
A moving prayer
sins
as worshipers
tread
upon the seeds
a world burns
beneath us now
a bowl from hands
catching it all
seconds so slight
they drift
endless
Lips moisten
to anticipate the words
the contorted lines
of lust
Between my fingers
It all slips
Minutes hang
as nectar from afar
Make light
of it all
Suitably questioned
Yet listless