how am i to talk about
the order of things?
the chaos of things?

winding through days that seem the same,
whether stood up or let down
((or both at once))

bottled
messages in moments
devoured by the sea
never to be known
never to be found
((by you)).

i lie awake on these cold nights
feeling the feelings that have no extremes
did i know you? did i want to?

but it seems unimportant.

with a life that alternates
between sleep & sadness,
the occasional bout of
inspired conversation,
there seems little to
cling to, to savour
or admire.

maybe if i waited a lifetime?