How Many More

How many lies until my hands are in your brows? I ask Perhaps a couple more lavender candles? She tells me to write her literature before I can hitch her lips.... Disgusting? But here we are How many more lies until my hands are in your brows? A thousand? I'm a pitiable man with an interest of stanzas That's the problem with losing innocence,I know the world owes me nothing But it's the valentine fever speaking. So I touch on her Indian hair and she brushes on my waves Modern love stories are hilarious A couple shots on a day someone died will have us beneath sheets Sweating like two dragons in a rumble Plying on what's suppose to be sacred like it belongs to me It's these type of poems I write with my eyes closed, Look at the disgust The day my future wife reads this I'm a dead man, She's not here yet,so how many more lies until my hands are in your brows? To her my words are scripture and these are my songs of songs