We tiptoed gallantly with these ardent fife that colored our tongues something true.
If your eyes were elevators I want you to let them go,
carnival rides play the hearts of children,
just let them go, and spin, let them go.
I apologize if you spill something, something harsh, it’s probably true.
You can trust me. I’ll smile and kiss your cheek; I’m sure it’s a bank vault, it must be.
I just hope that when you talk to me you’re being selfish only to you.
I don’t mind being used, it means I’m useful.
It’s our tongue’s responsibility to find the shades of language that kiss each other without contact.
So stay here,
a little longer.
I’d be foolish to date an architect,
her pillow forts would always exact citadels.
I have little faith in my comforters ability to cupola.
I’d rather be fervent and run with imagination,
the way historians run with their ideas of truth.
So ply your graceless wiles upon me,
track the hurdles that your syllables fetch,
we’re stronger having tonight,
for maybe less than a night,
I just like talking to you.