mikesifeldeen (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mikesifeldeen) wrote,@ 2007-09-02 11:43:00 |
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Caprice
Stay here and mend throats with me, our thumbs like buttons, their necks like eyelets. We'll weave the prettiest of patterns into their insensate bodies. Oh, won't it be like old times... Back in the days when we were made of sandstone and sufferance, and when evening breezes laid waste to our inhibitions. But we never had such delicate fabrics back then, the kinds that would tear at the slightest hint of ecstasy. Caprices, wandering eyes... wandering... but always fixed at a center point. We were the center point. Like our needles and threads that never let us down. In one side and out the other, but always holding fast. Their wounds may watch us from a distance, but they trace their past back to the knot, back to the center point. We were the center point.
Stay here and mend throats with me, our thumbs like buttons, their necks like eyelets. We'll weave the prettiest of patterns into their insensate bodies. Oh, won't it be like old times... Back in the days when we were made of sandstone and sufferance, and when evening breezes laid waste to our inhibitions. But we never had such delicate fabrics back then, the kinds that would tear at the slightest hint of ecstasy. Caprices, wandering eyes... wandering... but always fixed at a center point. We were the center point. Like our needles and threads that never let us down. In one side and out the other, but always holding fast. Their wounds may watch us from a distance, but they trace their past back to the knot, back to the center point. We were the center point.
