The calender shifts again, a little to the right.
I got another idea of desire as he plucks at me while I sleep.
Pulling this way, I can't help but feel stretched and aching.
I can see the fading of what I painted and that lends to tears.
Dark then light and I want that fresh shake to keep me up.
Don't tell me how it should be. I have a good sense of it.
It keeps me up at night as it fights to be released.
Fierce and lovely, strong and uncompromising; as it should be.
Demands ignored, nicety overlooked for a picture too big for this screen.
You want, you rely, you think you know.
You can't have what isn't for giving.
You can't take what slips through the seconds of the day,
seeking the place to land and plant and become what waits
impatiently below the surface.