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“These fragile bodies of touch and taste,
this fragrant skin,
this hair like lace.
Spirits open to the thrust of grace,
never a breath you can afford to waste.”

Residue
by me

Touch that lingers, wavers, turns to
dust and consequence.
I reach to turn back the clock,
rapid rewind,
earmarking pages I’ll inevitably
lose.

Sense recall recoils,
pierces my skin,
the bullet still resides just underneath,
too deep to move,
without bleeding
out.

I remember you well,
in distorted memories,
in tip of my tongue taste,
in a black and white decline.

You live in the dissonance,
in drops of desert rain,
in the drought that never ends
And I keep you,
feed you,
tend to your scars.

As a passenger
a tenant of love
of loss
of disillusion.

Lovers in a Dangerous Time :: Barenaked Ladies

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