I'm not as cold as ice beyond the barriers of my lips A kiss prolonged as two bodies sit motionless amongst the freezing in the twenty degrees of wind and rain

A fluid rushing with mountainous proportion to crush crying lilies and mow down the lawn

The clouds flash lamenting each teardrop lost to acidity in puddles within mud soaked into the ground

But that resentment cannot compare to that of the mascara running rivers down your face I've touched hundreds of times before being turned into a nigrescent mass of dirt - oils - and cellulose bile

A facade manufactured by Clinique and Lancôme that I've suspected are the trash compactor to my crying lilies with petals falling

That look in your eyes - priceless
and for a dime
I'd let it fly

with the pigs and arrows

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