If grey is a kind of blond, and white is the color it leads to
Then skin is the way we learn to touch, and hands are the way
We learn to play with one another.

Sleep is a song of breathing, legs are the way we bring ourselves to know One another, and you is the long version of I. Then I am the one that keeps you to ourselves.

Day is the way to night, night the way to longing. When I was a little child, I dreamt of a girl who I could fasten myself to sleep, and when I awoke this evening

I saw me lying inside of your beautiful skinny arms. Then pleasure was the count of two. Warm bodies gushing smiles from morning into the night.

An old man in blue suspenders
gazed down at his wife
who had just slipped away
in this hospital

Her last breath was taken
at 2152, documented by doc’s writing
what started with chest pain
ended in this dimly lit room

The old man looked up at me
gravity pulled a tear to his shoe
I blinked, the room began to spin

The old man
in blue suspenders
then calmly said,

"As I look down at her wrinkled face
and thin lips,
I can vividly remember the day
our friendship began

Her eyes were full of life
her red lips plump,
her smile made my heart
brew emotions that wouldn’t pass

We talked about these things
that made life seem so right

She was my best friend.

Now here lies her peaceful face
washed away and pale
death has finally taken her
as it will me

But those moments,
those moments of life
the bliss and her youth
live on immortally

she’s still there in my mind
that young girl,
with fire in her eyes."