run down, they once stuck to your roof top
sopping wet of sugary coatings that used to taste sweet in my mind but are


dry now and flaking around the boarders of crowned molds, gilded
and losing their shine behind
firmly locked soft gates, of an off-rose shade, that gently caressed
my unattached ear lobes that night in your car while you
slurred candied whispers above the incandescent small city,

with a view from a vacant parking lot.

too many times our silhouettes tangled together under shadows to
the same rhythm the background melodies hummed in the rush of
our second sentiment.
and the way your voice sounded — velvety, in that desirable sort of way —

tamed any quick beats of mine and aligned in a spiral with
my dying uneasiness.

but the flavour of your tone sat unpleasant on my tongue,
so I noticed the sugar was gone

'cause your words hung dry in the friday evening air.