The Hour Glass

The me and I fell in together as they fell into the centre of you. The and the the came rolling into one another and made a complete sentence. Time was filling itself backwards harvesting its own self awareness. You vied for my attention within my own body and wouldn't let trivial obsessions get into the way. A glass cup of warmth that constantly refilled itself and gave of TLC without ever burning. I roll over and kick you out of my imaginary bed and it's an accident. I leave you waiting somewhere due to forgetting I was meant to meet you at some certain time in my sleep but I was dreaming but i only upset you in my fantasy. I made my way to please you in the middle of the day when it was dark in the real world and found sunshine and you in my dreams before i had to say goodbye and brush my teeth and let the day go by. I and me and you went for walk once upon a time with a made up picnic and I said everything there was that I wanted to say to you and could and you undressed your mind and allowed me to see what it was you were really thinking and if those emotions I caught gleams of like sequins in time were my good guesswork or the delusions of my own self hoping into your imaginary lap to curl up like a cat that needed you.

That picnic in time that never realy happened seems to have left as big a mark as anything that reality could throw my way. Like a bruise from the inside out forcing my blood to the surface. The moon keeps making faces when my back is turned as though it somehow had no idea that i knew what it was doing. The distinction turned on a head that somehow my dreams were squealing that these dreams should be out in the world. Like Pandora had leapt out of the box with something good to say. But seldomly Pandora got let out the hole with something to say as she'd ceased to speak years ago and was only a spoilt child. I had no nightmares to share with the world but only my nighttime singsong celebrating what hadn't been and my diary of delusions spun together as a potential bluepint of the future.

The Shared picnic ran out and the dream said yes but you had to go and i was left in the forests of my imagination with the hanging tree's of my creation lost without you the human cup of wamrth at the centre of it. But I light another cigarette and your gone. Can it really be true that it was actually it all coming true that i was so scared of all along? But picnics don't make themselves do they? I made and make patterns in the minds as a nice derailed train journey to actually geting on the right path. Roads feel so small and even with their goodtimes I can't sing walking down them. There's no jazz in the tarmac and maybe all along I should have just given up and gone back to bed. But can I bring my Aztec love out for you? I can't even from my scewed balance see things to argue about and I'd give anything for anything for that one argument over nothing for me would be the vestibule of nothing holding out against my own time but second servings of peace are nothing compared to having a mistaken ruckus with you. The stills of you go in and out of focus like a memory in the dark poorly lit. The photographs in my mind aren't good enough so i skip breakfast and leap over the table to find you. Before the cups of tea and the squeezed first breathe of hearing you I stay here amongst my toys in my imagination workshop where kisses against recalled images in the air will do.