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Gray Lines of Perfection
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Misery to Miles
A portrait recaps
my memory
of the way her voice
Just seemed to sooth
Every Occasion
Watch this blood run from my face again.
You'll watch it run, just like you're use to
(July 20th, 6pm, the lights seem to take this shape. Formation unknown, something inside, it changes. Have my eyes adjusted to reaction or am I seeing feeling within me.
Her face unlike ever before, her figure, starts to bare the unforgettable truth.)
Almost a year since those eyes have met mine.
The dial tone soon becomes a stranger, with a quite familiar voice.
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Just like a 1950's romance,
the black & white bring her eyes to life.
A radiance that grips at you heart and pleads to love you back.
This pulse of infatuation
transfers from palm to palm
Silently speaking those words you hold dear.
Will the brilliance of this dance burn?
Right from the start
But when could I see
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