Sometimes I dig for it.
The lost fragment of my hips,
The way they swayed in front of your lips.
Now lost among the shredded portrait of our kiss.
I shove my fingertips into the night,
looking among the velvet moon and starlight
Between his long legs, underneath her tongue's site
Hoping to taste that bittersweet comfort of pain and flight.
To savor the honesty in the style I loved you
the silent mockery of poetic words desperately glued
to the confused pupils of your green eyes which unconsciously threw
those words of commitment under sly smiles and hidden hands tracing my tattoos.
But sometimes I find it
after a couple of beers and a sip of smoke.
Do you remember the rhythm those humid nights provoked?
They infected my brain with wanderlust and the feeling when time chokes
on whatever logic a perfect second shouts at the unawareness of a lover's hope.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
Sometimes I dig for it.
The lost fragment of my hips,
The way they swayed in front of your lips.
Now lost among the shredded portrait of our kiss.
I shove my fingertips into the night,
looking among the velvet moon and starlight
Between his long legs, underneath her tongue's site
Hoping to taste that bittersweet comfort of pain and flight.
To savor the honesty in the style I loved you
the silent mockery of poetic words desperately glued
to the confused pupils of your green eyes which unconsciously threw
those words of commitment under sly smiles and hidden hands tracing my tattoos.
But sometimes I find it
after a couple of beers and a sip of smoke.
Do you remember the rhythm those humid nights provoked?
They infected my brain with wanderlust and the feeling when time chokes
on whatever logic a perfect second shouts at the unawareness of a lover's hope.
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