Your lips, like velvet... match bare canvas eyes that dream of putting clocks to bed. If given the chance I swear we could align heartbeats in precision.. at least long enough to embrace the shaking.
I've got everything packed, with the exception of this death bed that I've built for summer. What's a couple of bottles between us and the fall anyway? Under this Manhattan moonlight I swear to dance with thoughts of you, and the way that I picture you clinging to me when the lightning and thunder collide.
I dare your heart to leave its scent on my collar now that I've been labeled the wolf in sheeps clothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment