Two Tone

Two tone. Or maybe three. As glances are. When we look. Really look, but still cannot see. The word in their stare. The art in their touch. As sharply it fillets the most tender portions.

Four times. Maybe five. It might take forever, but I'll read every word I've written. Eventually.

Because no one else will. And they're mine besides. Mine to keep. If I should give a few away I've still plenty more to keep.

There is no hour the asks for a noun or verb. Sometimes adjectives. We rappel down the slopes of our genius not understanding the breadth of the chances we're give.

As they pass from hand to hand. Eye to cheek. Caught in tears that never fall.

We are what we expect them to be. And when disappointed we turn those shadows inside out looking for their weakness. But it's not there. It's in us. In every word we couldn't say. In every lie we swore was genuine.

I'm not trying to climb the mountain. I'm waiting for when it will climb me.

Where it all comes to a head in a flourish of grief. And you know not that you are alone. You've always known that. When you know irrefutably that you can't be anything else.

It was the hour and I was the minute. The clock chimed and no one heard. So I waited, but they didn't come.

Tomorrow had everything I could want, but it couldn't give it to me.