June 4, 2016


Eons of time leak out your eyes like neon glowing in the dark of Main Street. Rings of oak and sound from a hundred beaches crystalize in the presence of your low-tide.

The buzzing buzz buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz of a core processor from beneath your sternum - it pulls at my heart strings.

Mists and oceans and electricity flow through your voice, tuned precise to match sea-blonde bangs of your hair, now brown from the cooler weather. Honey with your tea, like always.

Movement of your limbs, angles at the joints, all sockets plugged with fresh rubber bands.

Claws with cold fingerprints, a stomach full of wire. A magnet would surely short your circuit, erasing the memories from when you were human. The ones with sand and ocean where time only existed on clocks and we danced in the surf like fish. Crabs nipped at our childhood toes while gulls cawed in our sunlight.

Times without time: memories I don’t want you to lose.

And as if even though I know why, it scares me to see how rhythmatic you’ve become.