We emerge from the seditary rain,
shrieking laughter into the empty halls
of bookcases, where echos are snitched
in the middle of aisles, on the bottom of
paper cups.
Here is where we are aware of our
skidmark on society. In my own arms, I
inch forward, driving fingers farther into
the depths of our commonplace minds.
My nails scrape the nethermost walls of our
bodies and still, I drive further until
my knuckles bend and bleed,
until I can hardly see and your
burning through my open-hearted skin.
So take
us into these wooden hollows, where you
will sap us into molasses, where I can spend my
winter softly seeping across texts and
wonder when you'll be ready for the
next, the next delivery.
These words are etched on
shallow skin.
) Very impressive, IMO
Still great!)