Jellyfish fingers
slide beyond summer's treasure cove...

His midnight voice
melts the tension...

If language were a code for war
we'd be verdicts of an indigo sky...

My right hand, a statue
inches above the coffee mug...

Instead of uttering a phrase
that promises better time...

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The one who I clung to...

I don't know how to handle thinking back.
Was I only created for living once in the past...

I wish you'd held on for me,
and waited out my tide...

Do you think that I could forget you?
That I could murder all the moments...

I play "Gymnopédie No. 1" to a home
busy with ghosts and painted apathy...

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When I steal glances at him...

Everyone spits out your name or tries
to impress with animated metaphors...