into languid motions we seep away
and these lashing tongues, we speak
for what we cannot know,
and we cannot know.
With broken branches we build our bridges
and we tie our rafts with strings of words --
making up the world in which
we cannot see, dear,
and we shouldn’t be.
You who sketches in black and white,
and I who paints in red and blue,
leave tepid marks on each other’s skin
where the sound of our souls carry
on the back of every breath never exhaled.
The darkness tells me an ending’s coming
and the light you hate is shining through;
unpredictable as we are.
For you who lacks the spectrum of passion
sees the need for pity in the mixed pigments
of my naivety.
And I see the flesh of your lips, a tinted blush
so far from the empty lifeless white
of your mind.
And maybe, that’s okay
in a way.
~~
Spoiler! :
Gender:
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