Shreds: “Table”

I loosen me shirt to muse,
As though I might choose
Uniform talks, less bitter to peruse,
With paranoias I can’t defuse.
At least, the inks calm the seas,
For an hour, with its fragrant breeze
Of toasted almonds and brine;
Almost taste it’n me mouth and eyes.
The table, cold and dull,
‘Tween head and floor doth lull,
Perhaps the only thing to stay
From letting the spirits decay.
The same ol’ songs from school,
Those we etched on desks as rules,
Those we still whisper growing gray,
Those in which we gently swayed.
Now, after eons, hear’n’ ‘em near
From the last tread o’ me sole so clear,
To’rd the gate ‘n’ the world beyond,
My stomachs churn, in slow despond,
More than your tobacco’s burn.
I want to share our wounds once more,
At least a noon, on your terrace floor,
One last time, as in days o’ yore,
When we felt grand, though we’nt for sure,
For greatness bears trials, you know,
The consequences, as they surely show.
I wonder where thou placest thy glass
Now that thou hast moved to ‘nother pass,
Now that I can see thee still
From me window, as time stands still.