Precious little phrase on repeat;

incantation soaring out to settle

dusty words of comfort.

 

Balm poured to keep us warm,

to soak us in a sense

of que sera sera.

 

The clock’s slow tock

ticking minutes

off the coil.

 

Vigil kept for breaking breath;                                               

we sit and tell in every tense

stories for release.

 

Smokers roll incessantly;

keeping fingers busy and excused

to bury sighs in plume’s relief.

 

Slow tock ticking

little minutes

off the coil.

 

Elasticated conversation

wraps around the chasm

of tomorrow, while our

cowardice and expectation

change each other’s mind

upon the hour.

 

Slow tock

ticking off

the coil.

 

Precious little phrase on repeat;

incantation soaring out to settle

dusty words of comfort.

 

Tick    

            slow    

tock

            minutes           

off.