warm summer wormhole

/from the vault | “exile”/

though it haunts your days

dream a little dream of me

a nice little gift

ties up nicely

in a dying bow

though once again i grieved

for the never

warm summer wormhole, they called it

the angels rotted my heart cold years ago

though i shall run

i’ll see you later on the field

before the day folds itself,

collapsed

i will be back at dusk

a talk or none

a movie that burnt

a smoke lips to lips

a song that hurt

a hug that stained

though the world is ending

it falls nicely

the sun beams down

and wept for the never

gorgeous dawns come and go

But they do come

(not to be dramatic)

i will see you again in the next life

and the one after

and so it goes