And here I am
daydreaming about you
in a room stitched from the mouths of clocks,
time melting on the walls
like candlewax gods.

No trace, no else
just space unraveling its seams.
Faces bloom like smoke
in the corners of my dreams,
unknown to the few who dared to show
their truth in ultraviolet glow
fragile, trembling with the fear
that love itself
might disappear.

The world they cradle
could be shattered
by a sleeping man’s unsung voice,
his silence a scalpel,
his slumber a choice.

Refusal hums.
Salvation stalls.
Dragged through dream-halls
lined in gold-flecked absolution,
the final cut
a butchered execution.

Prognosis:
you’re dreaming,
but you’ve already been found dead.
Gone from this plane,
no longer to tread.

The coil spins on
in trembling suspension,
a serpent of lust,
charged with ****** tension.

Somewhere,
a siren calls to arms
a bitter, ******* revolution
limping through static fields
of illusion.

Trans girl love
in electric mutation,
a kiss on the lips
of a dead star nation