by Prophecies In Kodak   Dec 29, 2020

all i can think about is back seat heat
palms sweating like a race horse
nervous eyes meet nervous pills
i feel i am almost as bad at this as
d a n c i n g -
as if i could ever understand your finger tips 
tired lips 
painting a mountain out of me
but i’ll dance to the concerto of your whimsy 
your soft smile 
eyes as green as palm tree leaves 

and my finger tips remember the creases in your jaw line 
cacophony of measured miles 
drunk off all of you like i 
like i am a child learning to walk again 
your lips to a truly can and oh lord 
i am dancing in your   
s m i l e
(all your words are harmony / magic) 
let me bottle them up
like a keepsake 

and my tilted breaths are saying 
please never wear
that type of sweater again 
because as tired eyes
stare back at
y o u 
i cant rest until
until i have access to 

so until then 
we dance around the water line
(catfish to a smile)


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