Sweep out the ashes, choke on the filth and the dust,
clean air is all I'm hoping for.
To miss is one thing, swirling in the curve of nostalgia and the glassy eyes of a memory.
But actually needing the command of Those arms, Those hands,
That tongue...craving
the smell of That skin,
actually still Wanting That One.
The Body and its Heartbeat is not interested in what my mind tells me
to do.
I think I've stopped listening to that system altogether.
You can have the straw and the shit and the dust and your thoughts
about who you think you are.
I'll take the gold instead.
Got him locked up, do you? At the base of your closet floor, suffocating
underneath filthy unwashed clothes and dreams.
I love that man and wish you'd let him out.
I would have $^@%*& you til the end of time.
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