words crumble — i don’t know what to say
i love and i lust, but i promise it was—
every aspect: your handles, the way your body curved
life is abstract with occasional magic
things happen, we run with or from madness
plastic over our head as we stumble through traffic
the memories play, but i wish they weren’t so graphic
you and your ikea bed
how you loved your handles of vodka
liked i loved grabbing your handles in bed
i slept by meds, from alcohol but only to awake and weep
but knees can only hold so much and your life as a sheep begins to wear
from time to time, a hand in my pocket
i look at the sky, but i would never
it seems we hover over memories and coincidences
because we’re innocent we forget life is full of incidences and madness
life can take in an instant
but my last question: will i let the littlest?