The Idle Ones
“If you come at four in the afternoon, I'll begin to be happy by three.” –
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
I’ve suffered upon these current hours, without
insult for far too long; let me now stretch this
verse outside rumors of nothingness, and attempt
to spin the intimate cradle.
These eyes of mine now consume bland affairs,
those required to feed the common wallet.
As paperwork steadily sweep a gentleman’s glow
farewell, I fixate on windows never admired
previously.
I notice the attendance of birds, settled on the
prison-like pane; concerns of my boredom multiply,
as does their quantity. Perhaps they know, I’m of
better form elsewhere and the stain of beauty
always begs a return.
The orchestra of wings began to expose themselves,
as I realize my naked reasons. My desires trickle down
from the cause of uncommon nights, and the familiar,
gentle Eve.
As I now bear the weak side of hours, these passions
of mine are no longer tamed, and the clock out of
misery is my final feigning gesture.
Truly, if the slightest motion of her heel hints at my
doorstep, I’ll begin from every still inch, grant every
contagious thought forward and leave the entrance
exposed, while she is still idly in the decision of
visits.
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