I often travel it seems between the lines Those indexes of verbatim that correlate to the metaphors those aphorisms of thought. Here beside you The residue of promise seeps and double dips into the erosive state and I comprehend a deeper impersonal you.
The soft lips those eyes that glitter to the sparkle of life ever held the patch of pain that bore deep the emotional self and destroyed the world. Yet there too where the darkness held the sway You lay silent to the night hushed in fearful dreams That still contains that pit of sorrow.
When you look at me I can envision it all detect the corrosive run that stems from the child within harbours to the silence of your eyes and speaks between and through every word, sentence upon which you draw and there I read you.