Time is a tricky lil son of another
a surreal, paradise-intoxicating island
a stalling moment of a desirable, favorable chance
a stretch of hope of love and yearning rapture in a man
The years sleep so awkwardly and perplexingly
everything appears to lay on the palm of your hand
an enchanting moment of harmonious guitar-strummed amity
a connection only true lovers can
Achieve in a way that only time can
have a crazy effect on, can close abstract gaps
a miracle of untouchable willing faith
a smidgen of happiness smug on your lap
Not knowing the inevitable
a heavy hesitation of the future happy hourglass
Can we flip it over and over
I want to, have to, need to know it will last
Time is a tricky lil' son of another
moment in the span of our superior-seeming universe
when, oh when, can we get it right?
Because I'm weary of our long, fiery games
of this muddy verse in need of a final broken curse.
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