blood red moon, wintry.
deluged gazes, caught suspended
in time by each other's minds
mine in brody's broken body,
his eyes still wide eyed and caught
mid surprise/laugh
a fragmented memory
never lost, yet highlighted
more than simply sublime
in dreams
where nights are alive
skullduggery/ tells me things
that'll make me waste away
spend paycheck on a bull skull
neck tat and riding bikes up
cold mountain paths
like the good old summer days
without fbi or guns, tweezers
or cops taking my brody away
catching my parent's hands
[body] almost a bruised corpse
like him, like him
