the same as clapping hands
so often, the difference between us is more than time-travel the size of our hearts is always proportionate to the size of the heartache we've survived the same as we act now the same, we've always been so clear about things, so hasty in our decisions and how many went bad because of it? the turning of the earth spreads our name into the sand, and beaches leave us waiting, wanting sad eyes focused on careful finger motions how far my hands can penetrate into you how soon the night will end (the night will never end) maybe that's why, so often the difference between us is that of miles rather than inches, that of holocausts and love-making splitting hairs never got us anywhere but here, and really, what good is that? what good is that? but if one day late in the winter night i press my frosted breath against your neck and simmer with a smile that says: i still need you like i did and maybe, for an instant i'll even mean it (i can make holy text of lies i tell myself) and then we'll just fold across each other like it matters so much to sigh softly run my fingers across the goosebumps the cold nights leave behind for you to keep for you to hold onto the way we held onto each other the way we tried to keep meaning it when we touched...
2004-06-11 | 12:50 a.m.
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