Time Kill
Open, close
Open, close
Of hands.
Put your heart to use
On paper balls; in all colors,
Like my universe— where I'm reading
You.
The p.m. almost at an end;
Dark almost out of its depth—
This midnight morning.
I'm asking,
When thinking.
Believe me; a human white-out;
That blurs this madness's lines
(While you sleep.)
Put off by dreams;
I'm my own dream, as I live
In shoulders, aching;
They carry my world inside;
This night.
(It all goes now from the mind.)
Copyright © Paige Hind | Year Posted 2023
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