Slow

My vision was never restricted by a frame.

I've travelled minds and I've covered layers, but

there is no place like the centre of my earth,

very moist with your existence. Each day I

circle it, dancing to the decreasing radius.

The seasons get me drunk, in the viciousness

of our cycle, a myth of lost love.

We've thrown our clocks away, walked through the same dream.

I drink shadows, in the slow poison of

our hidden era, but my glasses never complain

beyond my sensibilities.