2.
Such a small inkling feeling,
A change in pace,
Enough to subsist upon,
I sense you watching me,
Cloaked in shadows,
You will fall into the sequence,
Of lives imagined and forgotten,
You will let me down,
A sickeningly sweet sound,
So elegantly off pitch,
A cortege in corridors,
I engage in perilous visions,
Malaise in moribund,
Wearing my austerity,
Surmounting part of me.

1.
At the pace we move,
Incoherent, inefficacious,
A state cirrose,
We both can’t be bothered,
Occasional endeavor,
as solicitous solitude assails,
silently assent, indocile