She watches as I sing,
innocently sweetening in the sun.
I long for the black curve
against my breast.
The sting of strings,
the raw rhythm
of a love song gone wrong.
I wish I could
tell you these things.
Taste your mouth
with my mouth
but burning down houses
would only leave me with ashes.
And what good are ashes
when the ground remembers
all of my sins?
-Written May 20th 2008
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