Half That And Dublin
The Holy Mess
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Love in a glass
We wander home with our thoughts breathing
Smoking something
Our hands will grope for the feeding
Illuminate these eyes confined by looking faded
Let the saline dry remind us why we started anyway
Numbered days litter the floor saying what is left
What is left of me?
Staring stupidly
Our eyes will close searching for feeling
Bleary eyed and fucked to death
We’re holding close with our hearts seething
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Walking home
Waiting for the lips that parted
We don’t know
Wondering where or when we started
This epistle ties lost contacts welcomes all with open arms