“...you been dawning on me…”
This line has my heart stretching backwards,
Irking for the blood of another to pump near my veins.
Will that time come, with a porch set against a structure-less horizon?
A hand to hold, bigger than mine
And a husky hum, inaudible to all but me.
This hopeless romantic routine is fuckin garbage.
Set to prick the pursed lips with cold wind and the warmth of none.
How fashionably late-
The cynical cunt peeks her 2 cents in,
Setting the garbage on fire
With broken teeth and doubtful intent
Pretending to mean what she says,
And to say what she wants.
These snide remarks, owned
She’s broken too. And rusted, busted, dusted.
Waiting for that ‘slip’ to slip out and billow up
To follow the path of the last ten thousand sunsets
Where lovers’ dreams were made wet
Wet by the spray of what might have been
Swept away in the last flash of sun.
No comments:
Post a Comment