Halfhearted happenings
Happen half the time.
So this candy tastes plain.
Every bar tastes the same
And the feeling's mundane.
And Monday through Sunday
I'm hoping that someday
These taste buds will bud
And not hide from the words
That I hold on my tongue.
But the future draws blanks from a clock with no face
And I am treading on time in the fluid of space.
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