Palpitations. your eyes cast such an elegant shadow than forget
who made the darkened corners
you own me.
Palpitations. your lips must of been one hand job of a verse
a precursor to first light’s dew
you manually stimulate me.
you’re a thief. my unreadable Klavar notation.
i’m a better off lie. your suspension of disbelief.
my one good hand gropes for god.
amateur vanishing-acts and well-credentialed sons o’ bitches.
instinct’s embarrassed by his own behavior. waves us on ahead.
we don’t listen ain’t beggin’ to follow.
fighters or fleecers.
human nature’s working against us. she’s holdin’ us back.
we don’t feel in-order to survive.
i want love to burn my bones down to grain til’ i – slip – on – through – your – fingers.