Post by Laura on Jan 5, 2006 17:14:25 GMT -6
and then she spoke,
her words were soft like her stomach once was
without the added weight lying underneath
and her skin could shed if she were too full to carry anymore
yes, her skin could shed more layers than my eyes
leading to a darker place than the ravishing underground
feed upon that breast, we won't get anymore milk for a while
as we venture and we scrape our toes across the roots
and stones they make the toenails break and bleed
her nails are cracking and her feet are blistering
when will she reach the sun?
it's too late now, I think, I say underneath my breath
but there's no reason for downers or hopelessness
and she could have,
yes she could have been loved and betrayed
and a flower for a seed to come and polish her
she could have bloomed more outside than in
if she only let it concentrate a little more
heated skin and markless bodies
how can you tell the two apart?
we're only lifting off the pieces we don't need
we're only harbouring what we can
screaming our lungs out
our particles, they'll search out the dust to cling to
and she decided that dancing on her hands would prove something
eloborate on something, we can only ask of her
there we could float
back side up and we could bob up and down
we could jumble and jangle to no music, to silence
take away, traveler, my simple charisma
falling to shards too big to take home
grab on to my edge, an edge, just hang on
the water's coming
and the water's edge is much harder than any of ours
yes, it can shelter us for a brief time before it collapses
and no body in this universe can lift a wave
nobody in this universe can trace us
can trace her
but before she leaves, she draws some circles
sand for graffiti, hands for tools, glue for structure
and if I could have seen her before she left
I could have said I knew her once
yes, I could have
and she should have
and yes, she spoke
rubbing the rough spots on her stomach that was once so soft
before the weight was taken from her
before the storm, before the blood, before the red
before everything but love.
her words were soft like her stomach once was
without the added weight lying underneath
and her skin could shed if she were too full to carry anymore
yes, her skin could shed more layers than my eyes
leading to a darker place than the ravishing underground
feed upon that breast, we won't get anymore milk for a while
as we venture and we scrape our toes across the roots
and stones they make the toenails break and bleed
her nails are cracking and her feet are blistering
when will she reach the sun?
it's too late now, I think, I say underneath my breath
but there's no reason for downers or hopelessness
and she could have,
yes she could have been loved and betrayed
and a flower for a seed to come and polish her
she could have bloomed more outside than in
if she only let it concentrate a little more
heated skin and markless bodies
how can you tell the two apart?
we're only lifting off the pieces we don't need
we're only harbouring what we can
screaming our lungs out
our particles, they'll search out the dust to cling to
and she decided that dancing on her hands would prove something
eloborate on something, we can only ask of her
there we could float
back side up and we could bob up and down
we could jumble and jangle to no music, to silence
take away, traveler, my simple charisma
falling to shards too big to take home
grab on to my edge, an edge, just hang on
the water's coming
and the water's edge is much harder than any of ours
yes, it can shelter us for a brief time before it collapses
and no body in this universe can lift a wave
nobody in this universe can trace us
can trace her
but before she leaves, she draws some circles
sand for graffiti, hands for tools, glue for structure
and if I could have seen her before she left
I could have said I knew her once
yes, I could have
and she should have
and yes, she spoke
rubbing the rough spots on her stomach that was once so soft
before the weight was taken from her
before the storm, before the blood, before the red
before everything but love.
