LUI

writings
2004-02-06 01:40:39 (UTC)

our glasses

youve got my boyhood to claim
and ive got my dreams of you standing in rain
we laugh and love and speak in the dark on the cross of a
dim lit street light
youve got my innocent notions
and ive got your hand held on an ocean of sidewalk
we care and lie and smile and wave good bye to our truer
selves as we grow like roots
youve got some nerve
and ive got mine
we share our lives and we sift through minor time of
sharades, after such, leaving our days in the touch of
fingertip-to-jean-side caress

.
youve got your eyes and your lines on a palm, your wits to
yourself and brief hits of lip balms, while holding down
your thoughts to the point of a pin, and your smile to the
toned heart of the slickest of sin
and ive got me loving everybit of hating to adore your
company, while driving me mad on the edge of my seat
waiting for your voice to just say hey
ive got your happyness and your glow
ive got my happyness when you find that time to stop by
weather its for a blink in a crowded school of sardine
packed learners and comrades, or in the green warmth of an
even warmer coffee stirred corner lust, while i bust out
of
my shell of education for an end of the day caffiene high.

ive got your name on a strip on a black back dropped
cabinet
youve got your heart in a letter in the front pocket of my
tangerine flavored over thrown comfort.

because of you i know where i am
because of me you know why your so frusterated with that
string of love that still lingers around a bouquet of
withering sun flowered truth.

for better and for worse
in sickness and in sadness and in time of dispair and hate
and frustration and anger and lonliness
ill stand in front of the mirror that reflects what ive
been made, in you, and realize that i am happy and content
having known you and that this will never end.
even when our eyes are closed ten thousand miles apart
from
each other i know that at some points the one thing we'll
be thinking of is you and i.

this is not good bye or a wrap to end the scene of our
days
its simply a piece of our memories tied up and folded into
paper roses and blue collages




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