"Creases"

I think they said that time was outside of me: That was where I found it, lost to a din of living, I had forgotten retaining its sting, a deviation of pattern, And I will put on death, it winces into place and I pat the creases, The mistakes of sleep, the thought of you is left untouched; I could speak as though to make to mean, But I will not staunch the meaning so with words.