The world grows small and cold and dense. Eventually everyones story spills from our lips. The compass bucks and spins, pointing in affectation, never in direction. It is hard to tell the truth and not laugh. After all these years, it is next to impossible to break character.
A lipstick kiss, folded in a letter I should have kept. Creased and unlikely, an admission and an escape. A few blue words, sweet as spring, as deft as birds. A heart traced in the steam of a morning mirror. The wheel of sky has scarcely turned. Bloody muscles twitched and slipped their seams, gravity tightened its hold. You escaped, in a streak of heat and light. You escaped, leaving me standing in smoke and the yawning jaws of night.
Life dopplers forth from that crowd of limbs and pulses, it extends past the pond of all that stretch and heat. Those slick mingled figures we once wore-- mouths a jumble of tongue, tooth and breath-- endure like those atomic shadows, cave paintings made from one world ending. My hands upon you past any asking, permission radiating from your singing flesh and dancing spine. Those moments past words, when passion and motion created that strange math of romance. You and me, one and one making yet another one.
A lipstick kiss, folded in a letter I should have kept. Creased and unlikely, an admission and an escape. A few blue words, sweet as spring, as deft as birds. A heart traced in the steam of a morning mirror. The wheel of sky has scarcely turned. Bloody muscles twitched and slipped their seams, gravity tightened its hold. You escaped, in a streak of heat and light. You escaped, leaving me standing in smoke and the yawning jaws of night.
Life dopplers forth from that crowd of limbs and pulses, it extends past the pond of all that stretch and heat. Those slick mingled figures we once wore-- mouths a jumble of tongue, tooth and breath-- endure like those atomic shadows, cave paintings made from one world ending. My hands upon you past any asking, permission radiating from your singing flesh and dancing spine. Those moments past words, when passion and motion created that strange math of romance. You and me, one and one making yet another one.
rikku:
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