we'll sleep with longitudinal moons,
shake the ice from our veins and the stitch from our sides, the one that makes us crave perfection
and wonder why it's not enough and if another taste
would quench our hunger for bygone eras of not so long ago.
mais non, the rain makes sand crunch under our overdressed feet,
squeaking like the sound of long legs walking, a head turned to double-take, elation.
we fight to find a way to live, fight chance,
fight our way to the finish line, which is always death.
and then it's 4 a.m. while the city's on fire and the dust people sleep, and we hang in limbo
laying on ice-cold sheets,
playing a hard game of chess with the other side of ourselves,
asking the same questions that we've asked for thousands of years.
A or B, stay or leave, where are you, what can i do, what is eternity worth, and what,
what exactly is love?