Not quite
Is a scalding brand
Buried beneath the skin

Under timid waves
Squandered with age
The tides receding
With each spent word of disdain

Never on beat
Not quite
Never certain

I’ve scoured desperately
To your tune of no avail
The taunting constant
From swarms of the cool and crisp

The swift
The clean cut
The non-complacent
The bold and sure

Behind their fumes
I dwell with unease
Perpetually nauseous
And scattered among thoughts

Never on beat
Not quite
Never certain

Still I scour hungrily
A flustered wreck
Pacing anxiously
Through a narrowing tunnel of despair

All breathing sputters
As slews jet for their very own
Swift and clean cut
Untouched by mortal strife

Never on beat
Not quite
Never certain

Anchors my limbs
To a curse
Of frittered time