The black of the tarmac bleeds beyond the cracks, beyond the ground

Scattered, doves are trapped in their journey’s flight, they creep across the sky

Rooftops blend along in a line, all of the ducks in a row

The hour as dull as the Highest Place is bright, and I am alone. 

I am alone. Moving as to not tip the glass,

Blurs of colors that have gone to sleep, to dream,

It circles around, around, around, and a tilt becomes a crash.

Don’t—can’t—wake the mouse, for nothing can stir

Next to the river, it floats away to the dark

Tastes of bitter, fruity wine taint my lips as they spill from my mouth.

A flicker of a dying candle is the only light,

The ice only gleans, and then he is gone.

Whispers through white wires, between creaks of life,

From deep night and fleeting day,

Words to never grab, or they’ll cut, never shove, or they’ll burn—

Trusted in Temptation’s box held within me and you.

And yet, we are alone.

Secrets in company, misery sits in it’s dented seat,

Endless drops of blue until I can reach you

Suns and moons to die, angels will it make of us.

As one, alone, stone pillow under my head,

With the river, the wine—the candle, the cold; I am gasping,

Off with a flick, and my empty hand bleeds.

Your skin, only fresh snow. You glance, and you smile.

Across from me, you stand; we are still alone.