Listen to poem:
This Time Around
The world unravels like a threadbare flag—
stitched in whispers, undone by the weight of sky.
You stand accused of love’s ancient crime,
the heart’s embezzlement, the art of leaving.
But who can blame the eternal lover
when the clock rewinds without consent?
The same moon tugs at the hem of the ocean,
the same stars blinking like guilty witnesses,
and here, again, this fragile fabric
of what surrounds us—still stained
from the last time we were here.
To lose you: a wound deep enough
to unseam time itself. I’d rather
see the world collapse into a single moment,
a black hole eating its own memory,
than watch you vanish.
This time, this time:
the hymn repeats itself,
a needle caught in vinyl’s slow suicide.
Even love cannot outpace entropy.
So look around:
a world in doubt is still a world.
A crime committed in the name of love
is still a prayer. And this time around,
we'll call it salvation,
even as it ruins us again.
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