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Description
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Come, let us wave farewell
dear,

just as we've always done
           even though we both know

that when our contemporaries
look down at their hands -
     canvas of skin
stretched across aching,
                                 old bones
that our hands remain -
          youthful,
poignant.

Children of a dream.

I've been evading this world
               of clean silverware
collapsing upon the dust ridden floor

just for you lately.

But in between it all
we've decided
          we still don't know.

Anything at all, really.

We're running
          mouths hanging open
thinking we know the world
             and it's time.

Yet,
I can barely delve into
                   the mind
of these sheets we lay in.

Much less,
yours.
(for once in my life.)

Resulting,
         I've been scrubbing
the memory of your voice
every detail of  its sudden, stubborn
crescendos
For my own benefit.

My hands working
lather
against the shadow
of your meager body
          as my headlights
roamed you
           in the middle of the night.

Coughing,
Strutting along
with the company of your
exclusive idiosyncrasies.

"It's the summer, darling,
             and we've all the time in the world."

And you've
       You've wasted it
In dedication to
Mollifying  my
              carefully polished
interruptions
in a wardrobe of whites.
        until they are barely recognizable.

I should hate you for it.
I've never felt so entirely feminine.

Instead I am left
practically infatuated with you
You,
disgusting loaf of my heart.

I know that I mean a lot to you

because you can force a smile
in between all of these synthetic extravagances
and block out the fact that you are wearing shoes.

But so am I.

And neither of us were exactly built for reality.

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