Oh dolla' where art thou?


    Random corners.
    Slow footsteps.
    Gasping with
    reddish premonition.

    Twenty seconds ago
    I made 
    a fortuitous copy
    of your graphite
    past sentences.

    Even now,
    pinching myself
    with golden thorns, 
    anything
    that can wet these
    wrinkled bedsheets
    follows those 
    cloudy eyelids
    of yours.

    Let us overcome
    our soon departed heathwave
    Let us stick
    every spot and
    every line together.

    You and I
    And the crowded solitude.