2084.

He coats his love in
pity and then laments the
tides as such sorrow.

2083.

His heart sometimes feels
like a black hole always set
to steady hunger.

2082.

Even anchors grow
weary as rust pries at their
exoskeleton.

2081.

You can't stage love on
the same set as betrayal
and call the play fair.

2080.

Everyone seeking
the new happiness without
noting the sheen's wear.

2079.

I remake your words
into dreams and then blame you
for those stars falling.

2078.

There are a million
stories in my blood, taunting
me with their distance.