Gray Flowers

Behold my savior for he comes on a plate

In a capsule

Wouldst thou grant my soul peace before I should cross thee lest I take flight from this bridge and plummet through my most ecstatic anticipation

What is and what is not

There is only an hourglass and a scythe a picturesque solace made for dying and burials

I no longer dream of us

For I am swept away in this solitary sea of breathless harmony

The fixation flickers and is snuffed out

It is just myself and these apparitions

Lingering around as if to communicate something to me

But I am deaf