Temporal Fascinations

One day we'll ask each other. What it is we want. And we'll both say nothing.

I write in blood about the men I've conquered. And laugh at how they think they've won.

Tense little arteries in a fortress of flesh. Hungry leeches exploiting intimate moments.

As I stood. Waiting for the stair to stop swaying. I knew the moon was bound to get in the way. Suckling clouds. On the teats of a dying sun. The seasons come in punches. But I'm not a fighter at all.

The train stalls at the station. The passengers all wait patiently. Parodies and skulls are exchanged. This sour journey. Of bones. Browsing the skeleton. For predictable puzzles.

Dry fountains reveal their wealth. The fallow pieces. Of broken crowns.

It's not that I would try to save them. It's just that need to be.

When I was young. I assumed the world to be pliant. Dismissible to my ideals. Maybe it was. Had the mountains not gotten in my way.