There are cannibals in my bed eating
the crumbs inside my head
the crumbs that you left
upon the ground
the things we kept
unsaid
(or said)
either way there was
no sound
entering or exiting
your lips as they danced
entirely still
wonderfully entranced
enigmatic notes struck
on the chord
of feeling and thinking
I am painfully bored
enthralled and excited
hands rolled in corridors
with tobacco droplets
and simple syrup
drowning the thought
of your features
that resemble canyons and hills
i forgot our love
is hibernating in the skin
of a tree in the mountains
outside of sedona
and i forgot the way the pinholed
stars sang to us
and i forgot the way
our hands became one
but it lingers
and it vibrates
it reminds me
of a fold in the fabric
the way it was eternal
yet fleeting
forever
but not nearly long enough
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
There are cannibals in my bed eating
the crumbs inside my head
the crumbs that you left
upon the ground
the things we kept
unsaid
(or said)
either way there was
no sound
entering or exiting
your lips as they danced
entirely still
wonderfully entranced
enigmatic notes struck
on the chord
of feeling and thinking
I am painfully bored
enthralled and excited
hands rolled in corridors
with tobacco droplets
and simple syrup
drowning the thought
of your features
that resemble canyons and hills
i forgot our love
is hibernating in the skin
of a tree in the mountains
outside of sedona
and i forgot the way the pinholed
stars sang to us
and i forgot the way
our hands became one
but it lingers
and it vibrates
it reminds me
of a fold in the fabric
the way it was eternal
yet fleeting
forever
but not nearly long enough
