Drawn to your canvas shoes and charcoal skin. The temperate colors you were painted in. 2:45 and I'm mooning over your pure hue wondering, Why you haven't squeezed out of that tubular life I found you in.
Watercolor tears emulsified by inert years, Wash away the impressionism you pressed over your fears. 3:45 and I'm looking for a place in the sun to dry my freshly painted sin. I guess it's safe to say, these tubular lives, we're bound by them.