11-9-17
Highlighting my days in a blush, I watch you smooth your edges for me. Nothing quite does it, gives me what you do. Talk about the love and the pain and the knives and the heat, flipping sides and telling you what I see, but bottom line is you don't wanna know about the other soul loving me. And truth be told, maybe I understand.
Blending it out, the shades don't define themselves any longer. Ratios and alternating hues. It's always been about color.
Confine it to a square, a temporary use, before the day is done and the night smears. Streaks of black and red wine, baby, keep talking like this.
Wrong so deep in my soul it's like I've already done it and if I've already been there and back mentally, tell me what harm it would be to act? Oh but I bite my tongue and you bite your lip and I promised this once.
Finish it now, I try to complete myself and drown in clarity of what's to be seen and what's to be known and I'm sorry I ever lost my ideals.
- (m.m)