the cracked sandy surface of your kitchen floor;
a dry desert-plain that begs for more,
than mine and yours casual conversation.
the brown grassy hills of your wall to wall -
the fake ancient war-chest beats in the hall,
the prophetic words in the library all speak of isolation.
always forever but never like this.
there’s a dot of black in the blue of your bliss.
in white pregnant layers of linen clouds.
you’re hiding deep in their womblike shroud.
each stillborn morning seems extremely loud -
designed to smash your face in.
always forever but never like this.
there’s a dot of black in the blue of your bliss.
the cracked sandy surface of your kitchen floor;
a dry desert plain that begs for more than casual conversation.
you’re learning to live with his many faces
the rub is he’s hard in all the wrong places.
always forever but never like this.
there’s a dot of black in the blue of your bliss.
