cigarette melody
i hate this love this hate this love this hate this... I think I keep coming back to hating it... {I can never quite say what I try so desperately to convey}
This is another example of my complete and utter failure to communicate my emotions. Take its meaning with a grain of salt and focus on the writing... if at all possible.
...
she stares at the crevasses
the subtle ridges and dirt-encrusted
valleys of the fingers she calls
her own
she defines her addiction
by the invisible oils that marinate
in the smoke curling beautifully
between flesh and air
[she in conjoined unless you're there to spread her apart again]
the skin absorbs - her body feels
complete with you inside her and
that cylindrical symbol of
self-destruction and apathy
resting gently between index
and fo[u]r[oth]e[r]finger[s]
she believes in eyes and lips
and the words that form between
and linger over
and die promiseless upon
them
your ash burns her toes as she walks
weightlessly among the meaningless
remnants of a life you seek endlessly
to destroy
her lungs ache for more oxygen than yours can provide
her eyes wish for more gazes than yours can let reside
her breasts yearn for more softness than your callused hands can bare
her thighs seek more intimacy than your cautious hips can share
and yet
her heart beats within the smoke
that rises from your right hand
after every breath you
take in and
let out
she exists in that moment
dies as the white grayness absorbs into
the air
and is born again on your lips
as you take another drag
This is another example of my complete and utter failure to communicate my emotions. Take its meaning with a grain of salt and focus on the writing... if at all possible.
...
she stares at the crevasses
the subtle ridges and dirt-encrusted
valleys of the fingers she calls
her own
she defines her addiction
by the invisible oils that marinate
in the smoke curling beautifully
between flesh and air
[she in conjoined unless you're there to spread her apart again]
the skin absorbs - her body feels
complete with you inside her and
that cylindrical symbol of
self-destruction and apathy
resting gently between index
and fo[u]r[oth]e[r]finger[s]
she believes in eyes and lips
and the words that form between
and linger over
and die promiseless upon
them
your ash burns her toes as she walks
weightlessly among the meaningless
remnants of a life you seek endlessly
to destroy
her lungs ache for more oxygen than yours can provide
her eyes wish for more gazes than yours can let reside
her breasts yearn for more softness than your callused hands can bare
her thighs seek more intimacy than your cautious hips can share
and yet
her heart beats within the smoke
that rises from your right hand
after every breath you
take in and
let out
she exists in that moment
dies as the white grayness absorbs into
the air
and is born again on your lips
as you take another drag