That rose colored glass.
Our uninterrupted smiles and our
Soft forget-me sighs.
Was it glass?
Or was it smoke.
Was it razors and cigarettes?
Well, it encased my heart, my eyes, my tongue.
But not my ears.
They heard.
And slowly, through my veins the message crawled,
And slowly my tongue began to speak.
My eyes, they saw.
My heart, it felt.
But quickly I was fed
More smoke and cigarettes.
More glass, repaired as time began its inevitable
drip.
Drip, drip, enjoy.
Drip, drip, swallow,
Our doubts, our pains, our ever-present sighs.
I should have listened to our melodies.

More smoke and cigarettes
As I tried blow the smoke away.
And tried to spit the drip.
But glass it was and, love, despite my efforts,
T'was you who blew the final
Blow.
And still the glass remains.
Its sharp corners and its razor edge
In my eyes
My tongue
My heart.
The edges I will use
As they are now.
And rebuild that rosey shade with them
And smoke
And cigarettes.