we walked through my fire.
until we fell out of love.
and in my own backwards way i hoped you'd beg me to stay.
even though i was already gone.
we'd retired our shoes to a telephone wire.
to hang like the noose our love had slid into.
and my pendulum began its backwards swing before yours...
and so i found those who moved at my speed.
and have retreated to the womb where doorknobs turn backwards...
where your entrance is announced by swollen wood hurriedly painted glossy black.
our third eyes watch each other
for cues and clues...
as one multi-faceted crystal swinging through the dark...
we dream our dreams to life in our upside down reality.
though i miss the comfort of the forward facing idle.
but only because the monotone hum lulls me to sleep.
and i miss sleeping.
this hyper-speed retrograde can be nauseating...
but there's no turning back front