The Meeting Place

Waste my time with you.

How you gaze at the end of my bones

Upon the end of the worlds

I will visit our bones next century

And run amok: butterfly dance

Into the same old realm

Perpetuated by the same old sin

Linoleum and absinthe

We wander and we wander

Not in the same world

Your touch, soft point,

flex one time, and maybe more

Washing your hair near the pond

Of the pale moon we share

And shared not, stars were blind

As if I was a walking machine

To me, this might as well as be yours

You lie on one side, your good side

The other side is petroleum and desolation

In the same desolation I met you

December 2025

By Aran Meredith

Fur Caroline