Unmeasured Tempo

The sun rises at midday. Nubile breasts sag to waistlines while young loins grow dull, so late. Dreams are petted, like cherished lapdogs misunderstood and loved too well. Much knowledge wrinkles the cerebellum, but little informs. Leaps are made into narrow mincings. Great desires strain into petty wishes. You did arrive, smiling, but too late.