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The blush of dawn and plans are formed; languidly where we belong Focus sharpens easily now, lines and edges more pronounced. Blurry smiles and sparkling eyes and middle distance melody flies The earth warms us so comfortably it slows all speech.
Safe here; we've all been before, this womb of pure spun gossamer Watch them be, amusedly, empathy comes easily The time we're wrenched into the day is hours and hours and hours away, Sleep will come eventually but please not yet for me.
The music slides forgettably, yet soundtracks all so matchlessly The essence now for us and me is just to be. This is where I can be me, a synthetic potion lets me see; Only for a while do I catch a glimpse of me.
Then we effortlessly shift into our last blissful freefall Before the first cars' just fired engines ring a dissonant morning call; Clacking of a shutter or discordant mocking cackle? Fluid surrounding rhythms become a tinny tuneless rattle The sun's warm hand caress now blowtorch kisses on my cheeks; And our cocoon dissolves and it's solitude I seek.
Tactile innocence now replaced by urgency of touch The guilt augmented tenfold; just base need left from the rush. An itch borne of an instinct, that I want so much to scratch- While knowing all along that I have to let it pass. Eyes meet a fleeting aeon, and then can't look again; No one wants this anymore so pass the telephone for more.
Convergence of air and sky, a warm dry wind my lips are dry The unattainable alchemy now vanished from your eyes From dazzling iridescence to an opaque cloudy lens And what was it I saw in you or those again? The distant hum of lawnmower now screeching through my ear; And suddenly wanting anything but to be here.
I need more, much more, yet this is me - always will be, has always been Entwined with me, or born in me? With me inextricably I scare myself with thoughts that I could be content with this. The boy dies constantly inside but I purposely keep him alive I need him dead so I can live but that's what's killing me
I attain a perfect symmetry by never knowing who I'll be An unwanted butterfly without the gift of flight The burn of ambition fades in me with every dusk The sun-bleached stone my face is on; I have to etch it in before I'm done.