Long before our love making sweat has gone,
an early morning beckon arouses
smoldering desires of another.
Time knows of no hour I will not come
to my mistress bathed in inspiration.
To selfishly satisfy needs making
an hour into days, effortlessly.
The dancing phone, up to now obscure,
blending into the un-world beyond,
begs my attention and explanation
upon your discovery of the void
in our bed made of a different love.
The moment’s fever distorts our timeline,
holds it in a glance lasting just breath’s length.
tired.
another model production day/night/day.
more tommorrow.
more drawing tomorrow.
tired.
