"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
Love, you said, is ignorant of time.
But all I see before me is an endless plane.
A purgatory fitting of my crime.
In which my figure is but a stain.
Those eyes, and lips and paper skin.
Each so accurate at charting pain
That only comes when you’ve let me in.
My knight not by a dragon slain
But by an abyss of fragile time.
there is not enough to hold you here,
Instead we await its knell-like chime
Our veins contaiged by despondent fear.