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Always your face like a space 
(Destination: beautiful) ship 
Empties its mote of closeup trace 
Down screens that blink blank blip 

Somewhere between countdown 
And coma time is a line 
Where waking centuries often 
Drained against that measure we find 

Our blood redshifts (direction: west) 
Until film can clone one sun 
With stars both whole and gone 

Attending every sequel 
We pray for an intent equal 
To our interest 

Added: 20 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 21 Nov 2009 4:45 PM | Viewed: 2439 times

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