A striking resemblance to time turned dark
Entrails of embraces left beyond the reach of
feinted countenance, and
Stranded across the palm of a tide
beaches burrowing beneath their wise grains
empty stories told
by the last hourglass
Entropy, and symphony.
Such is the tumble of scotch
down the throat of the aching, erring world.
It strikes the stomach with its
gold to the touch, but
warm to the vein.
Float glide glisten
You’ve gone errant, fable.
The final known is irrevocably sewn.