08:46

In the mornings sometimes
There can be just so much fear
A hand that wooes, ails, arrives
Causing you a little uproar
Marching through the faces
Of the loves, the furor, tar
Enough for less infringements
That might always coat or mar
The gifts of the sun, the lives
With the contempt so far
Clean from the abysmal inches
That separate the love, the fear
When the mornings break the waters
And throws the difference
Into the other's face
Out of love
Out of a grave
Grace
Simply housing another thread
Another journal
Of a journey that never was
Of a love, you never lacked
Lest the dampness in the walls
Counts as longing
And the little worms
As friends
In the nothingness
Of the eternal life.