what is this skin of a lie
spliced with such care
grafted in quiet mourning

what is this crumbling light
stories of eyes between time
the next life

you are obviously awake
listening

sit next to me and tell me
about these holy ideals
the analysis of our composition
frame ethics and values and
everything that is supposed to matter

hold on to figures
carosails of bullshit falling from his pockets
pry in to see how
holding on to this anatomy
will leave layers of what it could be

but isn't
so sit next to me and tell me
more tell me what you
thought of the way my
eyes stray from delicately placed
caring only to catch sight of
a time we've already forgotten

tell me that you'll crumble my walls
with amber melding as one jaw drops
to another finger that's been
pleased with filigree
craving dandelions
shifting direction

in ease of changing course

- a hope of worn down cycles
smoothed and carried by the sands of
memories we refuse to bother with

HS