the burnt orange couch reminds of late nights past

the scattered papers and the whirring of my brain trying to think through you

and lost i have been in your words and numbers

from this peril tears unheard

and i gaze into your depths have you yet but one regret

for the torture that you give the sleepless night that i have had

the sacrificial lamb i have become on your behalf

and to this beauty of deep burgandy a wish for it to cease to be

your wisdoms i might need much later but i would rather avoid them at all cost

yet you persuade me that they need not to be lost

and as tommorrows time will pass these 7 parts of you will fade

my mind will not remember or care to think of you again

but nuisance as you might be a weeks worth time and you will beg at me

for my memory for my care - this is no love affair

i will never love you so you are a book

and I …. no.

and while you contain what i must know i will never worship your insides

no rhyme will do you justice to show my dislike for you

chemistry this love will never be true.