(no subject)
Wind is rustling against the leaves outside. Ripping them down from the trees and letting them drift to the pavement, onto cars, against the buildings, and down the stairwells. I can hear them as the land, scrapping on the ground, moving with the shuffling feet. I can hear them fall to earth as I stare into your blue eyes. As I sift though millions of fibers on your leg, my hand pressing hard against your jeans, and my mouth caught up in a moment. But I can't define it, even when i'm so close that your heart beats next to mine. We are compelled to do what we've done so many times before. But as these leaves touch the gravel, we move closer to the dim lit bed, and i can taste you on my tongue, with my hand pressing hard against your jeans, I look to the streets and realize it's the last time that we'll meet...