there is sincerity in the distance between us. i think i owe you an apology. you keep me at arms length only because i asked you to, yet all i want is to bathe in your presence like i owe you something. to follow the lines of your lips with words unspoken. "death to a saint," you will tell me, "this is not you." i will kiss away your remaining sanctity, like light kisses away dark depths of forgotten i miss you's and the sound of your pleas — they sound a lot like "tell me something good to get me by."