you are my treasured pain—
and i am your inebriation secret joy
the wonders of it all,
over whiskey and wonderland talk
so wistful and gay
playing dress up for faux first dates
and dancing around inevitability
but i was her in black and red,
with joy and caveats to hold at night
and you were the boy with the velvet voice,
so quiet at day, but bold in the evening tides
how we walked this far
on such rough terrain,
with a third hand in mine,
i’ll never know.
i trip and fall down the coastline,
allowing for bumps and bruises
along my blushed face and jawline
you were not magnificent,
only marred,
with tattered tales of torment and your demise
but the demise was mine instead,
all for the taste of a secret wine
and we became the last of the great faux pas
and I became a dissection at my desk
again
your words are meaning to you,
but we crumple them and
spit on your intentions,
which until then were never seen
out of your mouth
i’ll never know how you tasted,
but i know
how it tastes
to never have you.
and you’ll not hold me in wintertime
below the shadows of december,
but you’ll hold on to the fragments
of Almost
and Settling
until you pass.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
you are my treasured pain—
and i am your inebriation secret joy
the wonders of it all,
over whiskey and wonderland talk
so wistful and gay
playing dress up for faux first dates
and dancing around inevitability
but i was her in black and red,
with joy and caveats to hold at night
and you were the boy with the velvet voice,
so quiet at day, but bold in the evening tides
how we walked this far
on such rough terrain,
with a third hand in mine,
i’ll never know.
i trip and fall down the coastline,
allowing for bumps and bruises
along my blushed face and jawline
you were not magnificent,
only marred,
with tattered tales of torment and your demise
but the demise was mine instead,
all for the taste of a secret wine
and we became the last of the great faux pas
and I became a dissection at my desk
again
your words are meaning to you,
but we crumple them and
spit on your intentions,
which until then were never seen
out of your mouth
i’ll never know how you tasted,
but i know
how it tastes
to never have you.
and you’ll not hold me in wintertime
below the shadows of december,
but you’ll hold on to the fragments
of Almost
and Settling
until you pass.
m--
