Another frozen river.
I don’t care enough to know its name;
That’s not the story I’m trying to tell.
All this talk of storms.
Our asynchronous time:
You wake as I go to sleep,
Our brief conversations in the day,
satellite static in the spaces between words.
Through processes and queuing I'll return east,
longitudes converging,
and sleep in your day,
waiting for you to come home.
I don’t care enough to know its name;
That’s not the story I’m trying to tell.
All this talk of storms.
Our asynchronous time:
You wake as I go to sleep,
Our brief conversations in the day,
satellite static in the spaces between words.
Through processes and queuing I'll return east,
longitudes converging,
and sleep in your day,
waiting for you to come home.
posted by Fraser Lovatt @ 23:03
1 Comments
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1 Comments:
A real beaut fraser - the small dying inside of traveling away from those you love. haunty and wonderful. watch out for cyclops and sea witches on your way back to your sweetheart. safe travels.
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