lace your fingers through my spine and let your thoughts rewind; nothing matters because lips against lips and bodies against bodies can never be separated. moonshine trickles into our throats(that shit's strong), and maybe we stole it but we forget next morning. everyone's underage and drunk, and we are damaged and drunk. the youth may survive but only the damaged ones don't move forward.
some rock band plays in the background. because of the din at midnight, it sounds like exercise bikes and people yelling–the sole music of any doused event. our hands are clasped and your smile and laugh make everything worth it, even though i can barely hear or see them. i realize that instead of placing my fantasies upon your head, the fateful conversation we had earlier was much better.
YOU ARE READING
paraphernalia
Poetrypretentious poetry. FOREWARNING: this was written over three years. my style changes dramatically, as does everything else. quality of pieces varies.
