Serenity

 Upon the deep view into the weekend
a sense of serenity is surfacing
and no one is to tell what its purpose.
Perhaps it's the sweet lashes of the archaic situations,
or perhaps it's the wreckage of the earthly ships,
bound to mock a time well spent.

From my sit I envision two bones scrub against each other
and the magic spilled has the stench of an awakening.
If I were to send my lubricated hands and touch this occasion
then it wouldn't have happened anyway.

But now retaliation has begun.
Long queues of browning shells and goodnight kisses vanish into a white hole,
where angels hang and oversee their downfall.
I sit still and wonder how I got to this point.
But it is all clear to me now.
The distance between the bed and the chair is to win it all.