The fall.

there is this rhapsody.
running to you.
Like the times you flee.
with your childish prattles.
to bring your fall;from a place inside.
Clung to my moon.

this minute;
would be a tide.
because honey,
there is a void inside.

Your fall,
had come; this infinite.
now is the season,
for the tides.

to unravel you,
from within.

-infinity2768©