And it tastes of rot

I am left here with

The blandishing of obsession 

My obsession

Of time

With the 

Six years it takes

To restart a stopped world

To cure an illness that plagues humanity

To cure the obsessions 

And to pause time

With the leftover aches

Stashed in the crevice of your back molar

With the citrus-bright pains

Flashing, flashing, flashing through your lungs

The fermentation of the sunset

The starvation from its pacing rise

Each hour tastes of old milk

Solidifying in the bottom of a forgotten cup

Sour, emulsifying with the

sweet, ripe juice of the world

And I sit here and I lick the walls

Of this carrion-built palace