The metronome of my sprinkler,
Like an arbiter of life itself,
Reminds me that our forsaken familiarity,
So ubiquituously snagged from our scenes simultaneously,
Was an architecture of our desires,
Which is to say founded on faulty findings,
Bearing little familial relation to reality:
Secluded we still subsisted,
Nurtured by our forced meditation,
Discovering the rebirth of a resilience we had,
In the last(ing) disaster of a lifetime,
Sworn we had forgotten.
We are not bound to this earth,
By any magnetic forces,
Save those that pull us towards each other:
If all of you vaulted heavenward,
Then all of me would have to follow,
Out of necessity,
Not necessarily from duty,
But delivering none the less,
Through the obstacles unforseen,
A satisfaction which nature demands:
The filling of a void
Post-Neology 