I won’t take up your time.
The way my thoughts have taken up the miles between.
Just pointing out that I need pointing out with regards to the direction that I’m heading.
An obsession camouflaged in the confession of the savior of lives not worth saving.
In dark lit rooms, with picture framed walls
Your subtleties scream for attention and your words march to the beat of the drinks.
Will the drinks lead me?
I coordinate hands and eyes as my body takes on the elasticity of the music.
Repeating itself, drowning in the waves of hair on the dance floor.
I stop.
The straight line that leads me to you has brought about an argument between my brain and legs.
Each one believing they are right in their decision to disagree.
Like a dealer out of stock, I’ll give you everything I have.
And hope that it’s good enough to get your fix.
I’m off the wall, your number one fan.
I’m accepting the organized chaos that was my senses.
I’ll know you by a series of numbers, a vague recollection of a memory broken into fragments.
Can’t wait to see you again, for the very first time.