trixie wonder,
what fumes,
a scent rolls back.
a sweet cuddle creeping
towards the front of the stage.
penetrating distance
finding only seldom bridges,
without a hand towards the beginning.
it was said that to begin
again the air shall clear.
it's an impossibility, really
for the hands of a god live only in myths
and the mind's eye taunts the heart
leaving only a lost cause,
an empty cup of coffee or a blank page.
it's like a chord out of tune
strummed for hazy hopes of children.
a new life.
no reason to associate or leave a pained plane.
known as fear veiled by laziness
by sleepytime hopes
in vein offering noble tracks.
there was a time when the dull whipping
once excited only on the screen.
a never before the first tight swallow.
now fuming, a distant wind.
calling to the dead,
to return,
what's it to you?
who go