A kiss is dust as dust as dust,
Stitched into your lips like a dull dream,
You do not, you do not breathe.
You sit in the crotch of emotion
Starving for affection,
Feelings begin to wrinkle, then go black
And, one, by one they drop into
Dark blind shadows,
Like a naked bulb’s light, swinging, swinging.
I count the minutes, one, two, three, nineteen.
Faceless clocks being brainwashed by time;
Numb on a mantel with a date.
My jaw is narrowing, shrinking like old wood,
No longer needed to kiss,
Bestial purity, once, was best
(My heart is scarred from a touch, a bit of blood).
Copyright © 09/02/2019 lance sheridan®