1
time is a calendar...

I'm a whisper in a dark room
where my words spark smoke...

these whispering words spark life
with no end...

this system ran,
but it was lost...

the climb of heat
is but summer ploy...

The lines of our love are crooked —
ever spiraling...

these sultry lips taste forsaken leaves
as they fall south within a morning gust...

Scratching my ear
was the easiest way...

1)
odes     broken bones as a heart...

and weighs waste to the air
as you can still smell its epicenter...

if Sarah was this nightly ruse
waiting for someone new...

i'm going
to be productive today...