Post by Steve on Nov 16, 2004 9:48:26 GMT -5
The broken fragmented poem slowly being
for
ce
d
out about the broken bridge
slowly dieing on my apartment's dinner table
-technically not mine, it came with the apartment, thus, the apartment has ownership.
I know i should feel guilty now and if this numbness would allow
if i could control my limbs a bit more i would phone you-
a quivering voice timidly professing his love to you,
(speaking of dressing you in shear linen and asking you to pose, remembering a moment when a flower's shadow slept against your cheek,) if you listen closely a lonely tear may wander down to tap the mouth ppeice when whispered skeletons bruise that cheek.
if i could control nerves a little bit better and the stutters
i would phone you-
(asking you to speak, begging to hear your voice as constant as the gentle replica of an ocean contained in the belly of a conk)
i would phone you
i would
but the bridge to you is yet incomplete
its wooden apendages wail with every passing minute
and my aching head and stomach pray with every passing minute
that i would go to sleep
dream you with no one else but me
dream of you alone with me
dream cleansed dreams of us together
dreams where your flowers rest in a vase on my nightstand
and my heart around your neck
oh how those dreams are seldom even though loved....
and my head still aches and my hands shake as though their fingers were dodging somekind of invisible monsters
but i won't expend their life on typing directly to you love...
i am sorry the bridge is incomplete
they are better read than alive...
i am not very attatched to this one, it is personal but not done well so g`head and tear. lol. unlike the other one it won't hurt so much...but don't start sugar coating now!
for
ce
d
out about the broken bridge
slowly dieing on my apartment's dinner table
-technically not mine, it came with the apartment, thus, the apartment has ownership.
I know i should feel guilty now and if this numbness would allow
if i could control my limbs a bit more i would phone you-
a quivering voice timidly professing his love to you,
(speaking of dressing you in shear linen and asking you to pose, remembering a moment when a flower's shadow slept against your cheek,) if you listen closely a lonely tear may wander down to tap the mouth ppeice when whispered skeletons bruise that cheek.
if i could control nerves a little bit better and the stutters
i would phone you-
(asking you to speak, begging to hear your voice as constant as the gentle replica of an ocean contained in the belly of a conk)
i would phone you
i would
but the bridge to you is yet incomplete
its wooden apendages wail with every passing minute
and my aching head and stomach pray with every passing minute
that i would go to sleep
dream you with no one else but me
dream of you alone with me
dream cleansed dreams of us together
dreams where your flowers rest in a vase on my nightstand
and my heart around your neck
oh how those dreams are seldom even though loved....
and my head still aches and my hands shake as though their fingers were dodging somekind of invisible monsters
but i won't expend their life on typing directly to you love...
i am sorry the bridge is incomplete
they are better read than alive...
i am not very attatched to this one, it is personal but not done well so g`head and tear. lol. unlike the other one it won't hurt so much...but don't start sugar coating now!