We're riding bikes on this trip known as life

In midnight hours

Facing wind with a hefty amount of risk mixed with intoxication adorning my head with an imaginary crown in place of where nonexistent helmet should be

Drunk not on alcohol
Instead from the countless tears formed by self-hatred
Soul-boiling
Hot liquid bubbling over edges of my eyelids

I hope we find our way
We travel without light guiding our direction
Two insignificant nomads blindly navigating this vast existential void
Attempting to reach sort of adequate destination before time reaches us
Held together by fingers and an invisible magnetism more powerful than the unknown forces pulling and prodding around us at all angles
And led forward by our hearts

How I wished to count your fingers,

Your tiny toes,

How I wished to kiss your darling little nose,

How I wish to breathe in your scent,

You beautiful little child,

A God sent,

How I wish to whisper your name,

Your fingers round mine,

How I wished to tickle your feet,

And hear your laughter,

How divine.

the tips of my fingers have grown mouths
yes
and now all they do is complain about
not being able to see
you see
i'd give them eyes but
i swapped them all for the tiles
better suited for the triple letter
there's a rabbi rappelling down the
face of a mountain that looks like him
but still lets him down
he'll ***** you i swear
just hanging on the cliff
by the noose of suspense
you just have to give him a minute
feeling's overrated so
cue the parting lovers
i gave my fingers eyes
but took away their mouths
i showed them you and
now they seem like they wish
they'd never seen at all
a fair trade to have their lips again
and say what they want to say

winter lingers
down in the southern hemisphere
winter lingers
still we're feeling those cold fingers
spring's warm touch hasn't yet arrived here
as the days stay so dismally drear
winter lingers

brow creases lightly
piano sings a soothing song -
fingers in their turf.

we begin our reunion
with soft, sultry, glowing eyes.
then my fingers ignite his skin
until hungry, crackling fire
consumes our passionate souls.

The rose caressed my fingers.
"he loves me, he loves me not."
My eyes could only see red.
"he loves me, he loves me not."
Ready to peel the sweet bud -
"he loves me, he loves me not."

His gentle fingers grazed mine.
"I love you, I love you so."
His eyes were milk chocolates.
"I love you, I love you so."
The petals clung to the rose.
"I love you, I love you so."