Stars are out
A few too many for a one track mind
To count
The scenery is like a matte painting
Where the artist
Simply forgot to finish
This December moon
Hangs a bit lower in the sky
Than I remember
Your hands feel icy
But if I turned my head
Your gaze would be colder still
My desires are self-evident
While yours flutter
And flitter in the winter breeze
There are no shooting stars left
They've all been shot down
Leaving dust to fall around us
Our lips used to crash
Along this horizon line
Saturated by a fountain of youth
But this phase has ended
We are waning like the moon
Waiting to be made new again
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC
Stars are out
A few too many for a one track mind
To count
The scenery is like a matte painting
Where the artist
Simply forgot to finish
This December moon
Hangs a bit lower in the sky
Than I remember
Your hands feel icy
But if I turned my head
Your gaze would be colder still
My desires are self-evident
While yours flutter
And flitter in the winter breeze
There are no shooting stars left
They've all been shot down
Leaving dust to fall around us
Our lips used to crash
Along this horizon line
Saturated by a fountain of youth
But this phase has ended
We are waning like the moon
Waiting to be made new again
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