Hangtime

It's cliff top, wind tunnel, precipice, hangtime, as always. I'm footclad in heavy timeboots, which won't cease this indecent swelling. Hard barnacles on the belly of the Kraken. I'm swaying above the gaping maw of forever. Below in the oily darkness, the terror toothed tapeworm of time, can scream and wheeze it's sordid song as loud and long and bloody as it pleases. For, hanging on for dear life next to me, my girl is smiling through into me and splashes my skull, with her good tears.