When it’s done and you’re on a run to the cryogenic laboratory
I hope you think of me as I think of all humanity.
Once wasted twice
dry, ice us
and we’ll live fiercer than forever could ever be.
I’ll return only when the house of clowns burns down and I’ll dance in the smoke, but it’s mirrors I see in the eyes, are we ever really
If death untied is true
where and when and what would be the point to hide in the nib of a pen? only flowing when the lights are low and the type in the margins is green inked to go?
I know no more than the kiss that brings me alive.
I can see the Eastern night even when the light is low and I didn’t know how sweet it looked and all they want is to refrigerate you.
I think if this is the farewell kiss I’ll miss it all.
© 2016, John Smallshaw.