Early to wake, you made like the genius,
declaimed wildly, leapt between calculations, lusted over factories and drew wild designs with an interminable finger in sand spilled from an hourglass. Added quicker, distilled it faster - not an hour had passed before you swore it was ready. The apothecary gods watched from their perches on the shelves above. Eagerly, you let the smoke dissipate. What did you find? Matter irreducible, an unworkable core. You had come to an end of yourself, and still the blackened brain of paper on the floor belched out only ---- silence. A door being opened
Loneliness twenty-five different ways the spite the picture of the woman biting her nails dawn ceased the rain fell asleep and the road disappeared When the air becomes as crisp
as the sandpaper rub of a whetstone on the bluntness of a burdened mind my heart throbs with the dull ache of missing you. I long to stitch you together from the memories which dance like cinders beneath the starlight, I long to hear your voice amid the smoke, my precious wolfbane. But your singed paper kisses have morphed into grey hairs and the air no longer shimmers at your touch. |