My dear, how do you expect people not to fall in love with you?
Falling on high-end roses, twitching; the screens planted in front of me
You were to one to worry once you had opened your eyes
Twitching and repeatedly being told to keep on fighting to be

Something by you, by fall in afternoon, I stare when you show me your arms
Expect me to be drawing over the veins; deny the pumping blood
Now writing about the writer, oh, there was time left for you to be thinking about my scars
How you and I could never open my mouth to make a vowel
Like a sound so beautifully justified by your every response

And I like you, my dear
Around a warm fire you are the fire and the soul, you are a warm towel
You make me want to rebuild my soul
Speak a little louder and maybe a little softer so I could one day climb up your Hill
Intelligence at its peak and you are only kind when I take another road

Now red cotton I hold onto: tongue bombs enrol on fire drones
A name waves itself into my bare hands
With which I ache to hold you
Holding me and listening and one night only, changing the purpose of a mouth