How cold your feet. Mine too.
The rest of me sweating, between
too much cover and skin,
lightly, breathing in and breathing out regularly
to lull you to sleep the best way a little spoon knows.
The underside of my paws
touch the topside of yours.
All hell breaks loose
for long seconds
'til your hand wraps around my jaw bone,
closing my mouth and you
shhh shhh shhh. sush! shhhhhhh.
"It didn't hurt." Okay?
Feeling hit
and run. Run run running and trying
not to cry or scream.
Morning. Brick top right around the corner.
Autumn leaves shuffling skit skit in the wind.
Laughing at the weeds growing up inside
the cracks in the cement where
cigarette butts go and glad it wasn't another
end to another bender, but
to have a moment back I'd take that one and be black
incorporated pushing products over shoulders and
sideways glances around elephant sized boulders,
colder interpretations are always available, but
sometimes in dark nights putting up a firelight
of a matchstick against the green black of the woods
I remember what I felt when I am close to you
and I don't want to think about what getting that back
means I have to do. I can never feel that again and
I know there's still time to spend and bringing it all back in
the bubble collapses
memory lapses
and history itself is fucking raptured and
I will never be what is strong as crazy glue ,
but I can see in black & white.
Do you?
