Borrowed Time

A poem, lyrics, a journal entry...I have no idea what this is. It's a rough draft of...something, but I have no intention right now to return to it. It is what it is!

Will of Cast Iron 

I could never beat you

and no one can tell me why 

a million miles away doesn't matter 

i marvel at your touch 

or, at the fact that you've ever touched me 

seems so long ago, on mattresses with rumpled linen and messed up hair, sleeping in till the sun began its descent, playing games of truth and dare - and how lovely we were then, spending days like they were money - expendable, nonessential. skittering leaves making way as we walked like king and queen, blissfully unaware of the science of moments, the instability that holds everything together, not for eternity, not for forever, but for long enough, and i guess that was us. we'd reached our expiry and forced apart like oil and water, the farm boy and the black man's daughter, awakening as if from a dream, blinking the bewitchment of faulty fate from our eyelashes, licking enchantment from our lips. 

The End

0 comments about this story Feed