Poetry archive from the mental hospital

it all erodes with time

Chilled sugary agar painted the air
unable to penetrate our palms
Our bodies were furnaces
Taking in the bite of the wind, compressing it to passion

But the clocks bid ruination
and the tide chases the safe
Cinnamon slips through my fingers and
catches like hooks on my thighs
What's left is evanescing fast

How do I make it stay?
How do I make you stay?