Stopping Time

Now your breath moves each week along since it has hijacked the wind. All your manic time have turned to winter As each day is swiftly pushed along Like a thousand tiny boats Whose sails are filled by giant fans. And you roll around each moment with your tongue leaving nothing behind but the chaos of chance. I wish I could touch you once more To turn your breath deeper In the hollows of your pale throat So we always have 12Am And you can Forever whisper just over each note of Jackson Brown Oh god Oh god Oh god.