Often it is in hereafter,
following the expulsion of thought
splattered across a face unwelcoming,
yearning reaches a standstill;
pivot against the friction of feeling
or indulge in a pursuit ever deeper in its shortcomings.
Henceforth it comes to light
when desperate rungs take flight,
desire possessed and lacked its direction
encoded into the machinations of being,
where the individual is never spared a thought,
but the outside world is provided ceaseless consideration.
Solely by the talent of losing
in cracked-soul prose and late-night episodes,
the all that could be given is given rashly
before the extent of the exodus is recognized.
In a short span between breathing and waking,
love escapes, half willing, half unwilling.