Why is it so damn hard to get some silence?
Leave me the fuck alone.
With precision, force, and care
I want profound conversation
in between trembling silence of perfect leisure.
you can just stop for a minute
(Or an hour, wouldn't faze me)
and in a mellow-dramatic surge
admire my hair explicitly
which, in the curve along my collar bones,
scintillates until you're reeling
and I'll stare into the ocean of your pupils
because I'm drunk
and therefore free.
Passively discovering the art of carving
the rhythmic tremor along
the vestals of your figure.
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