Her eyes sting as they penetrate me; I cast my glance away, unable to stand our desperate inaction. Words are just an appetizer, I've swallowed them long ago, along with my pride. But conversation is endemic and inevitable in a room crowded with clouded thoughts and rash hopes. So, as we share our already open thoughts, which hang like drapes fastened above window panes quickly wishing the Sun farewell, we fall back into a familiar groove. Only our consciences stave off the transgression of fools.
With touch subdued emotion only seems to grow, washing over me in fits and swells. Deceit and infidelity mark our pasts, but our 'restraint' hardly feels any different. Love is compromise and knowing glances gleaned from across a room of muddled conversation, not desire. An embrace is pure passion, a rash fuck is not. Nonetheless, judgment is the heart's best prophilactic.
And here I am, gently resting upon flat, newly-foreign ground draped in deep red. A visible door reminds me of my place in the pecking order. No wasted tears tonight, for they'll not be seen. I sleep alone.
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