Trouble in The Office

Mutual Aspiration

We trail giants like little ants when they follow the scent of sugar
Big, huge, cubes of sweetness that can't fit into tiny mouths.
Sometimes I like the way you borrow - you make it seem fresh and new
But when I realize the thought was never yours to begin with,
You stale and crumble like old bread wasting in summer.
And then *you* tell me the same thing.

We conjure air balloons and paper ones
And dream that a bright tiny point will flicker
And choose to be the sun of our lives
We only want to be read, someone said,
Extend existences infinitely like numbers
After the decimal point, as in Pi.
We're running out of
Words to say.
We're running
Out.

posted by Elyss @ 12:11 PM