The look in your eyes
hooks me,
taking me back to the days
of my grandfathers, dark
whiskey in hip-flasks kept close
to their chests, eating tinned fruit
and singing to warm themselves up
on cold nights
I remember the sound of their voices,
thick and throaty, as if forty
cigarettes a day had eaten
into their chords
I wear their blazers sometimes,
Over a red dress, imagining myself
before they thought of me
wondering if they felt the rain fall
on their face as blood washed the
souls of their shoes
I know that your green eyes
are searching my face for signs and
similarities, the past threatening to
seep through the open pores
of my skin
I am corrupted
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
The look in your eyes
hooks me,
taking me back to the days
of my grandfathers, dark
whiskey in hip-flasks kept close
to their chests, eating tinned fruit
and singing to warm themselves up
on cold nights
I remember the sound of their voices,
thick and throaty, as if forty
cigarettes a day had eaten
into their chords
I wear their blazers sometimes,
Over a red dress, imagining myself
before they thought of me
wondering if they felt the rain fall
on their face as blood washed the
souls of their shoes
I know that your green eyes
are searching my face for signs and
similarities, the past threatening to
seep through the open pores
of my skin
I am corrupted
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