and the wood splinters of old telephone poles, bleached and bleeding, talks spanning generations.
i see you in the kitschy confetti of chinese bus upholstery yellow red blur green specks meeting your eyes and finding a home there.
i see you in the shady red convertible memories, when we tied indifference around our necks.
i don't see you now on these strange vanilla bedsheets in a city far from your sweaty july knuckles swinging.
the fact of the matter is i've seen you where you've never been but i see you in the places i want to go be stay live, and on the backs of my eyelids the places i'll never see again.
but i see you most between my ribcage in the shadows reflected off the windows we once called home.
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