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Get to bed you,
or time will not slip fast enough to fall.
Its bruised its neck
and won't get up.
A tragic ending
for the beginning.

Touch it's throat,
feel a beat,
a rythem- a song:
from the heart.
Oh, now that's the wonderous place
from which we can start.

It's not dead-
no, not time.
Pick him up-
kiss his lips,
there's a tingle
from the spine, where we don't touch the tip.

Breath into her,
it is sex-less,
moving faster;
in the air
and on the floor.

Oh, I've seduced them
oh, I've tricked them
oh, don't tell them
or yell them,
or open the door.

Cause I'm young,
yes, I pushed him,
and seduced her,
and picked them up for more.

But I'm slipping,
and they've
caught me.

Time
is fleeting

and all I want is...

-Matthew Koutzun

(Great thanks goes to Evy, on this poem.)