Every thing's falling down, and I avert my eyes
to keep it all in proportion.
Do you even know me?
You say you love me, our fingers entwined for as long
as those words can stand to linger in the low light.
It seems the only way you can stand me is if
I'm softened by the lack of fluorescent lights.
You've never seen my cheeks flush, my eyes brighten,
how could you?
Every thing's always been haste, haste, make haste,
this lust can only stand on it's own for as long
as your shirt stays unbuttoned.
Rushing, rushing, always rushing,
to find release, to gasp, to moan,
to clutch and grasp and impregnate the moment
with a poor excuse for passion.
Sorry, sorry, forever sorry.
I forgive you, but what's it for
or supposed to mean this time?
Apologies are now our excuses for why
it was never really real in the first place.
I'm sorrys are only ever preceded by I love yous,
because we both know we're sinners and mistakers,
and we can only forgive ourselves because it's
too dark to tell what we're doing wrong.
Forgive, forget, move on to the next frenzied scramble,
a contest to see who loses their clothes the fastest
with the least amount of help.
I don't need you, I just like it when you stare.
I love you, but
only enough to unbutton my shirt without you.
Every thing's falling down, but at least there's
a bed there to catch us before any real damage is done.
