If I were able to collect wrinkles in time
Such as a bag of shiny new coins,
I would carve each a purpose,
One to writing,
One to reading,
One to rest,
Yet not one would be laid out
As what you wish.
You have hit a gold mine
Within the inner workings of a man’s brain.
If I were to be frank,
A heartache it would surely pursue.
If I were able to collect time like coins,
Not a single one would be spent on you.
When you lie to rest at night,
Dreams of disdain fill your brain.
A time may come
Wherein a coin may be flipped your way with another
But for the time we have now,
The hour hand is broken,
And, my love,
You are left with an enormous amount
Of time long gone.