My Melody, you are too far away for slim pickings.
Waist nothing in the lean times of love.
Grind up the bad bits for even they can be consumed when I'm not around.
It is what I do when I can't be near you. I remember the morning breath, the mood swings, and the gambling.
The things that torment me in times of plenty become my blanket when you are hidden.
November gets a little warmer when the famine of love is savored in the gray above us.
My Idol, we should ration out the pleasant sides of romance to sustain us whilst we wither.
Yet, we can feast on the perishable deeds that drove wedges between us when were fat in our feelings. You look stunning now that you can't refuse my lustful eye.
In the lean times of love every goodbye is important even the ones that hint at no returns, for sometimes it's all we have to build our dreams on.
The time apart doesn't have to drain us or kill us.
My Passion, consume my laziness and messy apartment-keeping short comings, when your arms can't hold me. I stay up so late thinking about all of you and none of it is expendable.
Are we getting wiser in the lean times of love or are we just resigned to let our rib-cages show?
YOU ARE READING
SIDE PIECE
RandomAn offering of small tales laced with intrigue and delights. Sometimes I need an escape from topical poetry in the pursuit of more fantastical renderings. No rules, no boundaries, no truth in the lies. Yet, when you live in the lie everything inside...
