Letters fly, away from it all
Language does best – burned and tethered
Armor lines the people’s chest
Many lines can attest for
The embargo on many actual moments

But on the brink of
Time becomes still, while we, as its company,
can do nothing but match the decorum
We are fallacies upon melodies

Take us out of time, find ourselves in space
Where movements align, morph, match, to the point
where you can’t differentiate
The dance comes after 1 more step or, one more line and
1 more song or, when you are ready

It never says ‘come’
But always welcomes
you home