You're a tattoo on my eyelids and I'm dreaming this at best.
The pulsing isn't only in my chest;
Getting off to thoughts of you.
(The hint of repetition is omitted.)
These melodies are substitutes for a voice I haven't heard yet.
Screams into arms and pillowcases.
Cheek against the bathroom walls.
Towels and blankets in laundry baskets.
You meet my eyes and my blinks are laced with false hope.
Don't do this to me.
Choke and gasp.
"Give me a hand with this..."
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