I dreamed that I was running for my life from Time in slow-mo velvia and fast forward eterna

Away, away, away from green tendrils hazy and ambivalent jade reaching across sanitized aisles, condensation fogging a glass of sometimes daiquiri and always hazelnut

Tasted ashes in my mouth or echoes of expiring pineapples and bitter coffee grounds and shared, cheap ramen making me throw up— hands, in surprised, willing surrender bile, by the pavement, maudlin and mourning and tired but staying

Felt red neon tracing unfamiliar warmth over cold, inked skin beckoning rest and borrowed peace Seen, scene of fluttering oranges of half-lidded eyes closed in spent quiet in often fitful but at times quiet, though consistently expensive, taxi rides

Saw a black mist willing away unread messages from planes made of discarded merlion postcards and a lone vanilla cake topper toward pretty green contacts and heavy breathing of short, long fingers tracing the edges of wide-rimmed glasses like prey skirting through the suddenly short, attainable distance

Heard steady murmurs of supplication for Time more and less of Time slower and faster passing by Time

Felt an urging to arrive faster And get ahead of impatient, irritable huffs slower And get ahold of raised, lithe arms finish

inside— what Time holds close to the chest—unyielding and uncertain and unlikely like half-choked confessions of prayer at 11pm (or is it 1am?) breathy and rasping and cast off in careless haste as if coming suddenly and hard into senses long dulled like a realization half a thrust too late, too much, too shared, too flawed, too hurt, too familiar…

then, a whisper, “too soon” laughter came halting, somewhat cruel, achingly sweet, almost fond, fleeting, away …

Then I wake up. And? Tapos? I can’t remember— thank fuck.