Cause behind its door there's nothing to keep my fingers warm
And all i find are souvenirs from better times
Before the gleam of your taillights fading east
To find yourself a better life.
There’s campfire twigs and a small slate tablet, crackled with dabbled paints and scrapes, a riddled mind may wander here, just like a forest in fear wanders itself. There are piano keys and bled out reeds whistling on the high floating tune of ohm and woman, just jasmine and lilac, no sage or sandalwood but all petals and green fields that flow through every jolt. We are spiked with ideals of perfection, tonofilaments flaking into spines, thinking all is eternal in flawless heaven, forgetting that the imperfect is perfect for a second. Taking a hacksaw to the limb, heaving slant like shaving ‘til that first drop of blood crystallises in a lachrymal bead just hanging, weaving down a blade spreading meander glaze of sticky sap and sloping sloughing off in the glint of liquid sunlight. It takes a moment. A lip lets slip a small moneme, a syllable[con] of ecstasy, suspended, wrung out and hung, still wet, still ringing; in momentum it carries on for a millennium in that nano-measured bit of time, clung hard to the soft palate with excruciating pleasure, the beginning of a word that is boundless, cut short in breathing near expulsion.
The gaps and waste.
Your beauty has not left me indifferent, indifference has left me without beauty to compare to. A nullifying wash colourless and striking all the same like a tongue tip pulse settling in the shiver from the tacky sweat. The edifice of unity is ineffably gone with the slow decay of salt and skin, a woven blanket of textured emotions rent and worn out in the friction of heart against ribs. A ponderous groping that stretches at the seams folding over the album pages where remembrance lay out a pictographic table of immoral moments caught up in heat and sundry swelters. Flicker and cold snap wind wound dancers these flames licking exorbitantly at the stippled walls, snickering in the languid whispers and warm handshakes, acquaintances still curious to introduce the other. Meddling sorts, these mindless trips.