A that negates,
Callous and contentious, but always I
Will consecrate your body and my doubts
Copiously growing with every centimeter
That divides our beds. My compunction asleep and awake, in that space of silent
Storm of toughts. Why do I feel
Predict and project
A cataclysm. Staying or leaving, silence.
It is not of what you don't give me, more
A question of what I don't want. I don't ask
Is it a myth that comunication is a key
Deus ex machina
But I don't believe. Either I ask or a stay tacit,
Your vis at the light of your phone, peaceful, the sound of your hands playing with your toenails
My face onto you, and on this screen, tyiping
We're in silence. 32 degrees at night, no stars beyond the roses.
My dimmed lights illumate these couple of sentences.
A negates, the desires that I don't know