Crispy little lexis falling from fingertips,
Because it's deemed dangerous if the
Tongue gets too involved.
Then it's been processed, oh yes,
Frilly and meak in a bloodless massacre
Of denial and wonderment;
Is it still love if you take away the title?
If you're truly fighting against it this time?
But still I ponder, if I'm still fonder,
If I'd still wander if your index curled at
Me. You hear little lexis even if I don't
Share it with the molecules of the earth,
You faddy young man of blue and white,
At least for tonight, with brown toes and
No looking glass to hide your face,
I fear I am in the same place,
The same place where I have resided
For many a year gone by, only now
I tell myself that you're floral aura has
No power, you flower of peachy black.
Where am I?
You're losing the reception.
The sound crackles.
The picture blurs.
I made sure of it this time.
I am frightened.
No comments:
Post a Comment