This Is to You, and Your Hands.
The bitter aftertaste
leaves me wanting to dissolve into nothing
to forget everything
except for the sound of footsteps
yours and mine, merging into one
a rhythm of two halves
like the moon that listens to the wax and wane
of our quiet song
she stumbles from the edge of the endless dark
and something is born
because I am the song
and you are the music that sets me aflame
but this is real
and this is to you
and your hands.