Varicose veins are extending
they have a life of their own –
the moon Diana is blending
with our concept of time we have always known
while fragments of our lives are deceiving
the distinct plots we are weaving.
Act one is coming to an end
and the letter I never wrote nor will ever send
is altering every instant we are apart.
Oh, how sweet it would be to return to the start
the line that fades with acid rain
the lines on my forehead receding in pain.
You talk the talk but never show me
the action you decree
let me not look into your hypnotic eyes
one more time. I’ll try to rise
up out of this trance you mix
hold out your hand to mine to fix
the cracks on the sidewalk
the mangled thoughts I so want to talk
for only your ears to listen
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