dissertation of a growing loss

Half-lidded in my love’s bed

In my sleep its hands crawled from beneath

A childhood mattress enveloped in a sheet

Of growing pains and ex’s names so tart,

I yearn for the static on my tongue to remain

A compromise with covetous time, and it preys

Upon my incessant desire for another dawn

I wake at ten with tender bites suffocating my legs

A real-time pity for those whose gravity

Has fed upon midnight blood; those whose bones

Had never known such undue monstrosity

Pink lemonade tongues, consternation versus love

I watch my car clock in hopes chronology will collapse

Though I obsess and deliberate in circles enough,

If time ever did spare me,

My legs would be too frail to run.

- M. Rose