Glue water blue

If only water were glue,

The tears of Icarus would
have swept his soul.

I keep witnessing
the fall all over again,
and sweat, sticky,
just like glue,
binds all the minutes of the
night to the sheets.

The light from some
faint tired stars pulls,
the falling,
but the pull is neither strong,
nor weak.
Icarus is indifferent.

because suddenly falling
gives him more of
a rush,
than flying ever did.

This entry was posted in Poetry and Fiction. Bookmark the permalink.