the incessant warmth in the stomach of a sip.
the man who lost all of his heart in translation, fucked up more
what goes out of his mouth than what goes in his guts.
cower at the thought of being alone and settled.
how was the brunt-bearing end of such a thoughtless spur, a kid not knowing?
for crying out loud
now they share cigarettes with the wind.
now both pray they each make it out alive.
praying for love from the one incapable of.
praying and never believing in god.
now they live in a hologram inside the head of a woman who got caught up
in the middle of it all.
in your summery youth
you will feel the warmth of an affectionate touch
or it's in your guts from bottomless green bottles of isolation.
one summer night when the phone calls are incoming
and you don't know what you'd say still,
you will
become it.
