sketched in its path

i've awoken to a morning of haze and somber songs,
each bitter, retrospective lyric coursing my memory.
i reiterate phrases at random like a poetic recital,
but more popularly i repeat the motto "time is all we know."
sadly, we cross the other in perpendicular tones,
meeting once at a point of felicity,
yet dividing relationship in the direction of an arrow.
i've let my sorrowful candle burn with luster,
and i've questioned more than once
if your attention has been sketched in its path.
can you see, my dear, the inane flicker,
which cuts a slit in the vast pitch,
like street lights sewn to the avenues,
mimicking lanterns held by worked hands?
and can you see, this lethargic film, which blankets my moist eyes,
like satin sheets and lively bed spreads
over every recumbent dreamer, who dreams of release?
if your attention is sketched in their paths,
then you've noted much... you have noted much.
swayed and staggered i've become,
gesturing with familiar hands, the inchoate formation
of a face i've not laid eyes upon in months.
and through my morning's premature awareness,
i spoke in tones i'd never attended by ear.

a naked loneliness becoming personified,
sketching a path to the picturesque world.