the middle page.

somewhere between the beginning and an end a lonely crowd waits for its turn yearning for fingers to caress their cheeks for eyes to read an uneasy please something that they did not start a prose they can never hope to end that middle word, of a middle verse silently stands on desperate sands granules…

sweet dark.

such hasty paths lead to a lonely house that dark visage that covers a hole my heart just seeks an embrace in it where no one stays, and no one knows no one can tell the difference in time the place remains forever sublime a constant wind an unchanging cloud up above the sky would…

accumulate.

sweet whispers i gather upon ice cold fingertips i feel i have formed vain dreams of you beside those vast plains lay bare our footprints still clear on them i accumulate dust as memories forming your scent in my sleep while this day passes i know i can not return there is still silence thronging…