Fix me with subterfuge;
one-hundred feigned smiles
crash, condense and disperse,
all because you shot me
that polar glare.
Trick me with posed gesture
and we backtrack, for miles.
Your stare ignites, melts and
drools off of your frozen eyes.
Wet blue tracks
through Salt Lake City;
these roads need gritting,
these walls must melt.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
Fix me with subterfuge;
one-hundred feigned smiles
crash, condense and disperse,
all because you shot me
that polar glare.
Trick me with posed gesture
and we backtrack, for miles.
Your stare ignites, melts and
drools off of your frozen eyes.
Wet blue tracks
through Salt Lake City;
these roads need gritting,
these walls must melt.
