In search of light and love and lost time,
the months are flying by
faster than either of us imagined.
Loneliness speeds us to the grave
more surely thandisease,
yet we remain impotent in the face of it.
Try as we might to cling to the past
and each other, the present
has a proclivity for mass murder.
Wind swept and shell-shocked, we stand
on differentshore lines
ineluctably alone, defying the odds.
Our fates inextricably bound, written
by fear and solitude,
unerringly devoted, waiting around to die.