Days odd and even even sun-crossed moon, are the (the)ater of unresolved thoughts. Thoughts waived, arrhythmic tattering honey. Honey, swirled and cloudy, won’t; wont to ooze and cling to heart and wing, stick, stick(y), drippy cotton-candy paralysis, pre-fossilized to to(tal) unsolved resolution. Ink-expressed, we may have have(n) in comfort that what we leave, might-have-been been…