Waiting.

Pick me out of a crowd of painted faces and read into my sleep-drunk eyes and tangled hair a passionate wildness that does not exist.

Drown in my shallow depths as I string together convoluted sentences that mean nothing, words that I use to shade our days with the sepia tones of yesterdays being deliberately created for tomorrow.

Lie with me in the halo of our entwined arms and breathe as our country falls to pieces around us.

Give me something more than these stubborn, silent distances caked with dust. Give me something more- promises that splinter with a whisper, delicate threads of melted sugar.

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2 thoughts on “Waiting.

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