you taste like pastel whiskey heat, and like a wish

in the absence of forever of the shadows of tomorrow you were gone from me, like the cherry from my apple eyes, 
whereby the winged disguise of your lullaby you put me to sleep, cease to weep cease to keep forget to meet, 
and the sun it rose from the ashes of our fire and set on the brink of an entire century lost to another.

i was exactly perfected by your autumn effect. it was a settled emotion that rested somewhere between everywhere and everything like fallen yellow leaves calm in their descent, for all in you all at once i had it all—lost to the frail refrain of our shadow’s veiled remain. 
and what it all means you wrote on a page smashed into words of sinister speak, and i swear i won’t use love if hurt me, desert me you will hold me in the nook of your knee by the tree under which began our endless numbered days before gone they were like the space of time on time.

bury me, bind me to the death of us perished born from life piled on strife—for you for me for what are we but counted and folded packed and forwarded to the dimension of the yesterdays of my mind—of memories that is—we are but memories forever trapped inside. and without cliché i avoid the dream that filled our lungs and breathed life into the every day 
now fragmented 
into one

struggling

gasp 

after 

another

--from every next far reach of a release i can’t let go. so move you for the chance to crash to collide with the surface of the beginning of a forecasted past, of an eternity stale under the rug crusted between the floorboards of a summer’s second stab at shattered shaken glass. and in the instance of forever in which I am chained to this freedom that makes me as weightless as sky against the pavement we can all be true. but just between me and you, bend. bend to the centuries past, bend to the seeds that promote the greenest candy grass, bend to the passion of what may come. bend to whom you aspire to be with or without me. bend to what is and what is not. bend to break—bend, don’t fake. bend the truth—it’s a flexible revolution. bend. to land on your hands for once.

/the music splinters.