it's the way stars work down her arms.
like the smoke rings of saturn above her head.
when the room is that jazzy blue
and she's coughing up emotion from the nicotine
fix. she's a vixen fixed on just.
living.

and it's in the way the words seep from her skin.
lips licking pretense. and my ears are begging.
she's something kin to penning roadside fires- and singing
heartscripts. it's all nonsense in that perfect way.
like the locked lips the steel strings.
hold the key to.

and it's the way she tosses her heart at the wall.
graffiti artist. speaking in colors- spraying her soul
onto the night. and I can taste the bitterness on my tongue.
like an ashtray turned upside down. she's trapped.
and I can speak in soft silhouettes. trace the imprint.
she screams like lightposts. and I can taste her repentance.
she smiles like innocence.

and it's like the way her words tap dance on my finger tips.
while I beg. there _has to be more than this. we're lost.
and she's dropping bombs on the bass- I tremble
every time her lips let loose a bullet meant for my forehead.
and I shake. she's dripping candle wax from her tongue and
screaming to light it on fire and melt away the shame
two shots
and my throat burns.

and it's in the way her sounds cry me to sleep.
I'm standing on footprints. and she's beckoning. dream.
like the sound of broken souls and empty glasses.
it's hard to see it as anything but tragic. but her sorrow
leaps like skin tones. tasting dissonance.
stillborn static. and I'm star crossed. locking moments
like a rush of habit.

and it's in the way. she makes it
heart.bent on breaking promises. and she sings.
I close my eyes. and I _feel.



and this.
it's the only way.

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