Eighteen Hours, Twenty Years

On the go, diurnal kisses whet my appetite for more. Linguistics torture me in the humblest corners of the halls. Second hands are taking breaks until the blue-lit-orange silhouettes these stuccoed brown barriers. Posing at a mirrors length, still filling in the blanks. Crossword, dark eyed, intangibly coated black. Slipping into celestial skins dripping off my tongue. Frustrating my ears with tortured lengths of silence. Casual charms streamlined in the background, in tandem. There is nothing ever worth breaking the air of comfortability from you. I burn to narrow distances. Time scatters by your side. Sculpting nails to aide the lull, building walls to keep the mold. Beyond you lies my antiquated footsteps on the floor. Pupil-driven depth perceptions finance my slack-jawed pursuits. I couldn’t turn away. I’ll take my chances, Lot, just to have an ephemeral glance of bliss.