The other side of things

Looking back, our hollows
became a sink-hole.
Your lipstick sealed
it's smile with melted wax, held straight
even from a sideways glance.
On rainy days we could pull the grey
from our blue, those days I knew
the curl of your lip without looking.

Things only move down in here,
mouths are filled with dirt,
faded old boxes, moldy with memories
slide away unseen. sounds smash insults
just to be heard, ground is given away.

But every good sink-hole is an hour glass,
if you hold your breath
the narrowing will pass.
Spewed out onto the surface
I force my eyes open,
and step on each grain that glistens
before someone turns me over again.