(no subject)
and it finds me wearing a leather cushion a bit more
as the weather cools, light dims earlier than i'd wish.
the sun's height changes day by day, and i'm keeping track
secret: under his breath. a complicate, it's like an old pattern
a cleared path, and we know where it goes. we've followed the sun
down too many times. woke in a sweat. and it's sweet, a touch on my
shoulder, a filling meal. a vase of flowers you brought home to me:
it's a look you give. filtered my eyes though
can't see you clear. can't hear your voice but mutter. invisible plug.
so i sit on this leather cushion when the day is done. the night
it's like a wink that i assume is friendly, is like a sexy dream that i say
doesn't mean a thing. it's a hold, and a hug that last longer than friendly,
it's a feeling. it felt real, it feels real
but i can't sense a thing. not a thing