There's a time when its all over
when the ultimate crystal fails
the pattern fragments
becomes
limp
translucent
the wonder of white
evaporating as swiftly as it fell
this mere wet patch
takes to
rising
dampening
the warmth of creased skin
sparking its own universe
to spin under crinolyn skies
and sitting in our hearths
toe-toasting the spitting
of sister sun
the memory of cold moon
shrinks
to fit the pocket
of some well hidden coat
while scuffed clouds
fuelled by decadence
and revolution
conspire to drip yet more soft cells
cruel feathering the darkest of seasons
and beached within duvets
we lie damp
in the knowledge
that this mere sweat patch
marks the return
of the fifteen feet
