Someday is a long time

... And the feeling's not quite there
Like that of body bobbing in the sea
The sensation leaves one bare
A stocking hanging out the basket of laundry
(No rhymes that fit, only vain attempts at symmetry
The storyteller fails in some rythmic sense),
Is what happens when...

You imagine a story that can't be told.
You let your shoes infest with mold.
You buy and you yourself are sold.
You dissect a species incredibly old.

Through nothing you can someday sometimes attain
A silent treasure as a gain
But someday is a long time.

A naked angel on the front window prophesying rain
Is your only comfort on an empty day
At least the cores of trees will cry with you through their fingered leaves.
Nothing can cure this emptiness
Like that of body bobbing in the sea.