Time drips its persistence in pellets of perspiration.
Time slips in-between tongues in love like,
the exchange of saliva stimulates, pheromones.
Continuously invigorating contemplation states like,
All fun and… no lies.
Time DIES on the corner of no and can’t.
Time RELIES on can and will.
Can I be the timeless ken doll
to step in the Marlboro mans’
wet cement footsteps of regret?
Because… Time Dries.
No matter how much tear ducts supply emotional saltwater
how many confide the secrets of their faulter in confessionals.
Time eats-up those who are compelled to alter the course of yesterday.
Time resurrects now,
every second of every day.
Time is the starting-slash-finish line.
Once it begins, it ends.
Only to relinquish itself by
sending an effervescent breath
of the next minute to diminish,
time passing through my fingertips as,
marijuana aroma drifts and lifts
the concept of breaking down and categorizing moments
represented in an orderly numerical fashion into
spreading all over my toilet bowl confessed-undressed words.
Caressed by body language and accent placement.
Allowing self-appreciative statements
to run rampant within my-consumption-of time.
Time is as forgettable as remembering.
Time is what I remember to forget,
every instance my
interpretation tool drools
all over a broken down trees
college ruled blue lines.
MY TIME IS A REVOLUTION WITHIN ITSELF.