Time’s love and sacred cats;
no-one thinks of slipping
between cold knowledge
into inaccessible night without boundaries.
Love’s past doors and corners,
it’s a promise sold at newsstands
where light seldom exists.
Shock’s the last window
giving your eyes to someone else
when you don’t exist.
A slow destruction of angels,
a struggle with sickness of street
premonition shelters us together
for the sunrise; where insects tap
the glass, thriving for love against the cold.