and the marijuana tasted like the church on stuffy Sundays, mourners locked inside, striking confessions from their ******* with mighty tongues.
a choir, a choir,
a million decaying angels
sing thee to thy rest.
it’s all nonsense words, this fiddle-faddle
when i just want to tell you what i mean but i can’t wrap my teeth around the right words to explain how eloquently exquisite you are, you are
like a diamond, you are, you are.
i’m bleeding words, baby,
sittin’ here, just for you.
how can i tell you the butterflies you give me turn me into a stone each time i look into your eyes and yours meet mine and those snaky tendrils reach down and grab in your skin in all the places i yearn to kiss?
there’s a wall, a force, like the one they pray to, pagan god of love, strike me in the heart with thine arrow, free me of the frozen fear stone grip i so often find myself trapped in.
let the smoke mix with the alcohol and let the tobacco numb my tongue so i may reach the smallest hand through the cracks to brush your arm,
once.
(all i dare.)