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
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