First, a sequence of footsteps disguised as coincidence.
A smile to hook at eleven, a line to sink at twelve
A style, all the while, caught leaning in the background.
Words, flowing like they’ve been there all along
Dropping us, down another level in their elevator
Further down the rabbit hole.
I become your mechanism
Heeding your every nerve,
Every tiny rhythmic stir.
You sing as I tune you.
At last, the bottom falls out and we’re flying, passing
Between each open idea, dipping
Inside your emotional crevices, tracing
Each curve in your wings-
Color spiraling outward,
Out of control
We crash land by the ocean
Peeking from the rubble.
Though our eyes are all that is left- seeds
Aligned and blooming toward the sun.
And the clock waits outside
As our sandcastle, balanced perfectly on this single fleeting moment
Breaks against the morning tide.
And the night disappears back into footsteps
Just to age in a museum of art never captured.