In the dim-lit knuckles of a forgotten drawer,
lies the mismatched collection of buttons,
neither IQ-boosters nor space invaders,
just buttons with eyes like distant suns,
gazing upon post-its embossed with resignation,
notes folded tightly within grasp like secrets.
Scent of morning whiskey perfumes breathalyzerchallenges,
whispers of perfumed harlequin shadows,
dripped through strata of remembered dependency,
etched into wax hoc petenti. Lorem, ipsum, etc.,
page-corner creases cut deeper than promise — footprint-ink revealed on sand-dust stages.
Here’s a suggestion to delight ferns, almost
scientific in its insistence to grow vines
beyond recognition on tidy white ceilings.
A whiskey breath’s slow dance broods over
Hey, can I borrow your spectacles; question alike to the worthiness of sand dollars?
A poignant reminder, relic of amateur archery
filtered light becomes its own adversary,
while crying out for the worship of wax resurrectees
clinging to serrated-edge predecessors, ready to like.
Squelched, yet soaked duplicates beneath shutter cast.