The puppy fails to grow fast enough for perception.
The joke of all jokes – an app that burns life into insignificant ashes is named for the old devil who murders the moments.
I murder mine with a pen leaking ink, a black bug dancing nearby, and thoughts reducing to a simmer, then a syrupy, back of the spoon taste of times engaged.
A glance across a garden that blooms once more.
No clock to become impatient with.