Everyone has those days. You know, the ones where almost everything makes you sleepy and smiley and all you want to do is passss out or watch a movie. Luckily for me, this day also proved to be, in its own way, a source of a sort of ::accepted:inky:melancholy:: Sometimes its just what you need.

The Last Dawn, First

If I lay still enough, I can smell the sighs
Sneaking out from between closed, dry lips-
Much as if you were breathing beneath me
(Reminiscent of how we discovered mint leaves
Blossomed in small purple petals right before summer)

We both swore to live
only in that slipping season of twilight

In the most open of air, both chilled and soft,
my apologies tumbled lack-luster and lazy
Over crouched bodies, hitting brick pathways
With a thud-
instead of catching them,
They were cast sideways as eyes steered straight

I could see myself getting lost in you
Someone thought, or maybe whispered
Between the fountain drops and lamppost lights,
words moving to their own agenda
Independent of hearts beating in other unquestioning chests

Meanwhile, studying the semantics of specific seconds
Were left each to the star-blind and solitary,
In its place a vague notion of times fabric fraying
Unto dawn , its thready loose ends sticking to the wrinkles
On our knuckles and folded palms

Unable to reach an end of a beginning not started
The similarities stood on their own to discover
Other means in which to exist