My Silent Picture Show worth More Than Two Bits
I can taste your iron sweat seeping through your sugar skin.
Piercing eyes I’ve seen before, an old soul.
Clothes unveiled like a brides on her wedding day.
Your face never radiates a smile, rather a smug approval or sorrowful sag of facial features.
I am drinking the ecstasy of momentary waves you baptize me in.
Extraneous strides, a motion of belonging, a sense of undivided presence.
Your next move will either make or break my existence.