Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Fragment

These are deceptions that you and I tug at,
Like blankets on a winter night.
So quickly we have given away our words - the good words.

The time has come to speak badly
We exist ever so casually in our distinct hemispheres
That shall not come to any sort of agreement on dawn or dusk.

And we wonder...

(but never out loud)

So soon. Ah! Must it be so soon?