Closing

Closing the day, going back to remembered dusk and your heart on a spoon, Dreamland is a little too far among the gray things, but you see the day's tears like the end of a dream, its kind but sorrowful temperament. You seek out the loss written in the head's tears on the silk flowers of June's permanent pair of spectacles. The beauty of her remembrance clouds the outline of the far body of chlorophorm that fills your lungs, making the dusk less obvious and your heart jump to your throat. So now you're sitting on the closing of the deep things that kept you so broken for so far and your dusk is Dreamland again and the lids above your dark regards drop slowly over, closing.