She had me pushed up against a wall,
And so many wishes fell a part,
I could not count the thoughts that left me,
Nor could I count or comprehend the way I felt,
I could grasp and guess at it,
As though some moonlit, angelic, breath had wrapt itself
around my neck, in such a lifely grasp,
Nothing that could **** but everything that could do the opposite,
She told me a story, and so many other stories that I can not remember
with lips, such imperfect lips, and such hard hitting silence,
Against this wall, it was another life, another living, a dream
Inside places, worldy, unimaginable places that can only exist
in moments, everything leaves you but a graceful moment.
Memories of perfect moments, stop themselves
against mindful windows and scenery, landscapes, and lovely melodies,
They pin themselves so tragically against against a fate that will be forgotten,
I am grateful, and in a dreary storm of longing
for these moments full of perfection, are stuck with smiles
archived and buried upon themselves,
To reach and grasp, empty handed, convinced and frightened,
I reach out for something, quite the something,
That, can no longer be reached out for.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
She had me pushed up against a wall,
And so many wishes fell a part,
I could not count the thoughts that left me,
Nor could I count or comprehend the way I felt,
I could grasp and guess at it,
As though some moonlit, angelic, breath had wrapt itself
around my neck, in such a lifely grasp,
Nothing that could **** but everything that could do the opposite,
She told me a story, and so many other stories that I can not remember
with lips, such imperfect lips, and such hard hitting silence,
Against this wall, it was another life, another living, a dream
Inside places, worldy, unimaginable places that can only exist
in moments, everything leaves you but a graceful moment.
Memories of perfect moments, stop themselves
against mindful windows and scenery, landscapes, and lovely melodies,
They pin themselves so tragically against against a fate that will be forgotten,
I am grateful, and in a dreary storm of longing
for these moments full of perfection, are stuck with smiles
archived and buried upon themselves,
To reach and grasp, empty handed, convinced and frightened,
I reach out for something, quite the something,
That, can no longer be reached out for.