Dreaming
of seven faulty rotations
of endless constellations 
back to the start, 
shiny red ribbon 
nowhere to be seen, 
the limping hands
Tick
frozen
Tock 
for a gasping eternity 
but not forever 
because Forevers, they all have 
an End.

And though the thrusting chasm deepens
And the thousand ships to traverse it are destroyed
And though we are betrayed
by a myriad of dreams, 
as stiffened hands
become intimate
strangers 
once more, 

I can only hope 
your shrouded lips will still caress my existence 
back at the start
forward infinite spaces 
of circles
and stars 
and relentless
relentless 
paces.