An itch, my eye
Twitch like a memory
Forgotten bars
One of those cities
One of those nights
Everyone's darling
Everyone's sweetheart
Just this drink to hold my hand
One glass of anything
Anything cheap
And I'm here just because
Everyone else has come just to be seen

We try and we try again and in every attempt we meet in failure those things which forever part. It is that we cannot try to mend the coring sadness psyches share, and it isn't that we cannot free the last rending terror from each other. Such grievous mores we entertain as would tie our tongues, bind or lips, stay our touch from leaving words like petals on the other's skin. Our own perceived sins weighing the alit joy between tracks, sheared in railed lightning, fired feathers fleeting a moment of lucidity left and lost and gone. As are we. Left and lost and gone. What's missing. What's mere. Whats more.
We continue to reel in an implacable stir of words. A numbering yet to be said kept waiting for the corded rhythm to receive them. And without such timbre we fall upon our steads to trace in dreams the common lots so often lapsed in paling snow, papillae poured upon in the cold. Each sulcus frozen in bliss for such flavors to swirl the phantoms we desire from the dust only memory can comprehend. A remnant of lamellae, the thinnest of voids compressed in adjoining, the stifling reassurance one hand may have granted another, suspended in the casting confluence the drying light left to meander in carving the curve of your cheek.