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.