August 18, 2004

drive home

alone on the street…you dribble in on the celly
sounding good'n sweet.
clinkin glasses with your friends.
one's black to me, darker still because they are unknown.

i met her at a bar though, i could not take her home.
not like that, i told you.
they all taste like death… tired'n weak.
dry'n ashy, like the cigarettes they drag.
butterfly's scream & i find myself drifting off the white lines
there to keep me in.

lust wipes across the back of my hand,
grins dry into the leg of my jeans.
sex smears itself to the inside of my cloths.
laying my eyes on you is such a drunken thing.

let go of the hum. drive on the passion.
let it walk its hungry self to your door,
wet and panting
to ask
if
i
sleep in your bed?

before - after