i feel im stuck imagining the best part of my life, i know ive felt love ill never feel again. with no account of our experience without a question of its truth, i want to savor it, keep it deep in soul so i have it to grow. im talking about pictures and his face. im forgetting who i am, im starting to wonder if im boiling with no vent inside for no reason, if im lying to my new friends, no one cares about the stories, i have no proof.
annie hall was to make love with. the day we retraced our steps out of the green sheen of bedroomdom, back to the night we met, playground sound up in the tower, there for an hour with no words between us only a permanent sign that the stars above us can align, fly down etched up stoney hill, warm cement kiss, middle of the street thrill. that was a dream we both had as we slept still, i could draw it of you'd stay longer, paint it if your face needs some color, sing it if your strings mend a time the sunset we would follow.
the knowing of ink under the moments peak, out of life down a porcaline sink,clink,blinkblinkblink..baby please separate those lashes i need the sun to rise. boyd,back yard ball. back in beige doom, this room with no zoom. i cant remember who i am until i see his face outside of my own head, ive seen what my dreamscape seeps too late, im running out of soul. into an empty glass bowl. if i made someone out of flesh and skull id be in love again, old soul dies sooner, young spirit ascend.