When clocks sail away in the thin night air
leaving existence vanquished as ash gray
blankets all that the world knew, would we care
that there’s nothing outside of where we lay?
When time’s gone, pulse becomes a memory
as distant to us as last year’s dimmed dreams,
but metamorphose is a subtlety
cached ’til stars tell what’s left to be seen:
anti-gravity, anti–world, anti-
everything; (even stars are long extinct)
just you and I — a floating lullaby
counterpoint to a feeling so distinct.
In a cruel world when feelings seem erased
over-indulgency should be embraced.