It would be so easy,
but it's now that I'm leaving.
Low soft sound vibrancy
descending through thin air.
An arm girds the waist
as the light rises up.
Won't turn while sleeping.
The headphones shelter
from the static hurricane,
digging me behind you.
And as it went, the piano
vanishes, decoying echoes.
What expected by curves,
blurs, as sunspots climb upon us;
it's a matter of time, and,
will be spoiled by the form
of our thoughts, as unfolding
in the looming morning.
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