As rising suns
And setting moons
I Can hear their calls in the night
As if Running down prey
The last grain of sand falling out of the hourglass
The last tear that I have to shed
For all of this to be absolved into memory
Forget me in the whispering sands
In the Howling wind of the night
I am but dust to this place and its ilk
I am but wreckage in the dunes
The nausea of dehydration
The thirst of an ideal
In the ceaseless search
For you.
how they have felt me through dimension
we are quickened and whispers
song and sonder
in some immaculate dream where the details
played out into some coincidence of time
framed in sound and fury
struggle and strife
where I cannot know what the futures hold
only shape how I will persist into them
and the motivations that
I have
are as captured satellites
around you.
As I am a craft upon reentry
Coming apart in a cone of flame
Shearing of metal and machine
As this has somehow become customary
To make impact and then proliferate
Becoming the reign of myself
Repeatedly and relentlessly
Awakening on foreign shores and foreign landscapes
Adventures within adventures
Dreaming the dream of the life that I have
Woken in the experience
between sanctuary and solitude
with you.
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