Poke through the grid of our lives
As she straddles the friction of my thoughts,
Crawling back into condition
Skin the color of an acid bank
With prehistoric smiles & the sleeves that carved your wrists out
Elbows sturdy as a box cutter
Jaw lines ripen
The moon's a victim & I'm just another blood line pushed back to square
Like a stranger defying the laws of time
Who can't quite cut the crusts of God
There's a curve in the road
And I found my sustenance behind closed doors
My minds got a devil's wings & I walk through the gypsies catacomb on those long nights,
That melt like sticky thighs.
A memory trapped in the archive of your forgotten fetuses,
I am not all there,
But someone's got to pick up this trail of breadcrumbs that didn't lead anyone anywhere.
Because when your hands ease through the deck of my heart,
I can't help but think that we're both sick cells with the same disease.
My souls hit a dead light & I know your the the haze that never stops turning into smoke.