Patterns In Absence & In Reunition

There was sun.
And there was a race being run in my lungs.
Particles were swallowed and stayed
tucked between our lips as we made
pretty designs with unraveled fists
on each others necks and kissed.

There was cold.
Nothing to be told you knew just where to hold.
The light leaking through my eyes
touched you on the shoulder and did you realize?
It was just another way to feel you.
Storms will come and turn our skin blue,
cured by the potion that our hearts did brew.

There's pebbles and yellow lines
Hidden under my curved and rotting spine,
my corps becomes bitter- lonely.
Rough, soft, pretty, you warm me only.
Smothered in remains of your buttery scent.
Awaiting the return to a graceful descent.

Burning, burning, brittle, bites into the heart.
The end written in charcoal but you brought the start.
Of knees buckling, eyes twinkling, stars falling, gentle drifting.
Of melodies sharpening, blood warming, hearts stung swollen, fire sifting.

Intertwine:
Turn you into mine.

Through the holes in my glove.

Let's move to Montreal tomorrow.
Forget about the hushed innuendos.
You can be my pimp and we'll make some quick money.
I can buy the heroin, you can buy the honey.

Dance to the fall of fantastical snowflakes.
Sing with the melody of our erratic mistakes.
We can scream at fancy fat cats,
Or trample the daisies and pretend we're aristocrats.

We'll rescue the dimes found under the mattress.
Fuck it, who needs a permanent address,
Or functioning lungs or lipstick or math?
Bright gray skies and bubble-less baths.

I'll tie your tie and you do up my shoes.
You'll always be late 'cause I like to press snooze.
Unemployed with so much to see.
Staring at the hopeless clouds and sitting 'neath the walnut tree.

These are my promises, to you and to me.
I'll collect baskets of stale potpourri
And you'll just sit there and deliver me love
and kiss my skin through the holes in my glove.

Leave if you're sick, but I'd prefer that you'd stay.
Always thought health was minor, but I'll brew you earl gray.
I'm not stupid, I just like excuses.
You left your mark; you live on through my bruises.