Life will destroy you
and there won’t be any more words
to describe our love for
that which never came
into existence

imagine a bud
leaves in slow bloom
ages upon minutes
minutiae upon epochs
for a product
that never is finished
but goes on
from seed to form
back to dust and roam

life is strange
with surges of anxiety
I contemplate
its rather statuesque secrets

there will be no more words
or feelings or understanding
when the cerulean mouth of death
takes us in its mouth
under its pulpy tongue
and down the
infinite hole
of silence