The question if the felt or the feeling hand feels more
is the only worth asking.
As if to say if you asked if lately I’ve felt more open
or hot as the eggs I eat in the mornings where I think
about the things above I write about
I’d say if I were to taste you it’d be by the gallon by a cup
at a time to time to that song you’ve always said
you’ve liked candle light writing by it’s
what’s made all the good men go mad.
It’s dancing’s what’s not getting laid on prom night.
Candle’s light or otherwise kills what’s a lack of
it, is it now made suicide or just loneliness,
is it now mean loneliness or just vaticide
now eyes not opening for the first time.
Bordering on morose now we look for
other words: this is where I live.
Deader words: there was once where I lived.

The goal’s in words to make things ****
even houselights like being you as temptation.