Your frame drapes the couch, an eerie

Glow of television on your

Face with its bewildered facial

Expressions. Glowing into fog.



A dusting of summer pollen

On the blaring box of music.

Blaring into forever.



The warm breath of a promise on

My shoulder, a promise of a

Phone call. I sit on soft carpet

And weave the tapestry that is

My life around those idle words.

I weave into forever. More



Promises of a future that

Lies in perpetual fog, yet

We'll continue to sit at this

Nonexistent loom of your words

To weave with the unreal

Thread you give me in your voice.

We weave away at this master

Work of lies, our invisible

Tapestry. Weave into the fog.