The Beaten Minute

Lost in the dark, tangled in silken threads,

breathe, sigh, swallow; pink in the cheeks,

again and again blank pages read,

ripened spring bud and mounted winter peaks.

Final moments close behind maroon sheets,

breathe, sigh, swallow; black eclipses eye,

heart springs wildly with interconnecting beats,

for a moment it is only fair to die.

White waters comb through unrelenting black,

breathe, sigh, swallow; green follows rain,

white linens over planks, bruises strung along the back,

purpose eats the passion fast, and all that's left is pain.

For a moment he's all mine; he belongs to me,

breathe, sigh swallow, and I'm his,

but the minute's with time flee'd,

and it's back against the rhyme: complaints, critique, analysis.