in the moment, disappear,
we all get lost.
i would wade, a little more than a hundred years,
in an ocean of faulty tears,
thence where you are.
under the blue mechanic light,
all my monsters dance in place;
in the shadows of your face,
the dawn takes flight,
but only for tonight,
yes only for tonight,
though only for tonight.
and wearily, haunt me in my dreams,
a reverie with stitched, burst seams,
there is no other that fuels this muse;
picking the ripest of superficial ennuis,
pockmarked, misshapen with eerie disbeliefs,
awakening to merely a feign, a ruse.
what more can i hope for, lightning, thunder; even as god would set sky asunder;
if the simplest request bequeathed with nay, when asked 'if only i could catch your number?'
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