Library my bones
into the dusty shelves
of stained-sleeved drive
and paper prone alley.

Fish through
the broken pond of ice,
chissled with skin hands that
only bleed to know they're alive.

Molecular levels here,
the tiny science of sugar,
these microscopic morsels
of sweetness divided.

Our first time
should feel this way,
granluar yet clumped,
in a pile yet divided.

In closing there's still time
to make mystical mistakes
and sip the kool-aid slow,
as our eyes lock in the night.

11/06/2013