there are tender words
stuck on your cheek
sweet ones that swing
from your eyelashes
whispered ones that cling
to your upper lip
I saw you
hang them there
and can only guess
you’re waiting for someone
to grab one
like me
crickets gossip in shadowy corners the moon glows through the clouds the morning starts evil-gray as the past maintains its grip waiting for the present to catch light of a future as the dogs and I re
time steals your hourly balance as often as clouds slip in and out of circulation and since you can’t accumulate or invest minutes or months why underspend days or put away years for some later date?