I dreamt that I was sick. I dreamt you too,
a face that moved over sounds. Comes a time
I'll wake, I know, but for now you'll keep as mine.
Love's a sickness that I dreamt. Love finds you,
or you it. You always said a messy room
would make itself a messy mind. Something like.
Love's a mess I meant. Comes a time the night
will bring no more to light, or nothing new.
Time is always falling back on its youth.
Everything slides from end to start, from age
to the past for a shine; an easy wage
to look on the never was and find truth,
to clear the mess into neat piles of dust.
I woke up tired, and licked away the rust.
new order - age of consent
photo: coquinete
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