The passage of time is

The rise and fall of moist, warm bodies

An eight legged chimera

Wet and heaving.

The flow pulsating of inanimate

Heaps of rumples sheets,

The floor is a lake of starless night

On which we precariously gloat.

I have no hands anymore.

They are a painting ruined by rain,

And artist, enraged, draws

Ten in the place of one.

There is a woman brought out of the sea

Soft bluish skin, a mermaid

Asleep, smiling in the darkness.

Bag of bones.

Wraiths swim in front of a void of

Sucking blackness

Destroying all light, heat, life.

It passes.

Our fused bodies

Are at once a hibernating beast

That blooms into a flower

Each petal varcing it’s own path in the night air.