Wasps in November

Go now, if only for a minute.
Lurking, teasing,
rolling over inside.
Static.

Hot white feelings of dread seep through.
Time is nothing.

Time is now.
Track lines running through my insides,
dragging up dreams.
Warmth.

Time is then.
Parallel entities, entirely winding.

Time.
Leaves fall.
You're not meant to be here.