and the way you make
the silence seem tangible
and the meandering quality left after a moment of ecstasy come back to bite me right on the back of the neck.
I'm all full up
of finger print bruises
and back-alley paint jobs
and a cigarette burn on my left upper thigh.
It's too high
for anyone to care.
I wish that my words came out like a typewritten paragraph from my mouth.
I'd hyperlink all the good words to a picture of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment