This feels
Like the color,
Purple.
My tiny dancer
Shock blonde
And cinnamon sugar
Watching Saturday morning cartoons
Curled up in bed.
The grey daze before dawn.
Like goose down and
Razor blades
I’m enthralled.
Captured
Raptured
Rising from the dead
Of long, wrong dreams
Inside my head.
Could this be?
Could this be?
Could this be?
Love?
Or just a
Weak approximation of.
‘Cause the world seems to stop
Whenever she’s near
And everything becomes
Perfectly clear.
I perfectly understand that I
Can’t get enough
Of my
Fingers in her hair.
I can’t get enough
Of her
Artificial air.
Yes, this feels,
Like the color,
Purple
Like goose down
And razor blades.