Anchored to this captivity
pleasuring memories are nothing.
Cicadas calling, do you hear?
Or is it the heart that sleeps?
Ripple after Ripple,
the reflection shivers.
Lingering in latency,
the fingers, warm im fists.
Could this be happening?
To the reflections in shiny dark seas?
They keep drowning deep.
The music plays and no sound of tapping feet.
Give it back, it was mine to keep.
(The Stories beneath the eyes)