There comes a time
for getting a grip.
On what, exactly,
is no one’s prerogative,
and stealthily, a shy breeze
moves through the semi-
collapsed passage your love
has bored. Interestingly enough,
we moored our moroseness
on an adjacent shore.
As such, the grand tour
is concluded. Back to our night
sweats and muffled cries,
our plaintive songs we sing to fill time.
I haven’t yet owned up
to my true crime of passion,
but yes, there comes a time,
and that time is for getting a grip.
Until then, slip me
into another ooey-gooey coma
that I may find any part
of this desirable.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 