This is where we tap danced till sunrise
and toasted to living underground.
Ours is the name spay painted on the wall;
dripping green as it dries.
Your smile is reflected through mine.
The message you see surmised.
This is the house in which we were razed,
and dropped on our heads.
Time is the price of living in slow motion.
Tiptoeing through the major events.
Tripping and passing out in tents.
No censers to our content.
This is the cored that breaks at the show
and strangles the unsuspecting crowd.
Backflips that will always be attempted;
trying to break our own necks.
In love our bodies reflect.
Moving from one to the next.
Author notes
the way we all fall in and out of love, and dance around the problem that come up when we are in over our heads.
as foolish as it is we keep doing it until the day we die.
Is this the way you do things too?
Comments
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I like the metephors in this one. Love is like a dance. A few spelling errors that actually did make it a little hard to read, but it was a good piece.
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