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 ^{(it's beta!)}

We suddenly understand the colours that people have been trying to explain to us, It makes our lips feel raw You choke a bit and my only memory Of anything, At this moment, Is a party of no importance, battered carpets and Christmas lights set out of season. The cat climbs over the piano keys, Never longing to know how to play a song, never longing for the sound of beauty Or the taste of knowledge. But who can blame the cat? Perhaps knowledge makes you hungry For more knowledge? It just makes me feel full. Full, like the man with four hot dogs like an over packed suitcase, brimming with discomfort. Setting contentment aside for.. Yesterday. So tonight, I will not touch the piano keys But I will take your car keys, because parties like this make me wonder if the sky has forgotten me and how could you drive tonight, if I was watching the empty sky and not your eyes? "Baby," I say "Tell me a story tonight." You open your mouth, and all that falls out are all the colours iv'e forgotten while we were stuffed up in that little apartment The salt on the rim of my glass constricting my tongue, silently in my mouth and my hand, latched up on your shoulder again. Your story wanders, along with your mind and takes us both to a yellow couch, entirely polyester. Whispers of sex slip in between the cushions conversing with lost change much louder than our whispers were intended to be. As my breath hits your neck, your hair is plastered to your forehead we both taste the moon, which they tell us is ivory.