grape cigars

tireless and empty days of wreckage, not on the outside but within. i see the light at the end of the tunnel, and i hover my foot over the shaven concrete in fear of something new, and wince as the flesh hits the floor. i'll reach for you (in the wrinkle of a bedsheet), and hope for you when my mind is far and emotions are close. as the dog of eternal blessing lay beside me, i hold it close and peer into your lens hoping that you are capturing me and the moment, not just the blessing of the one upon my side. biting words, and ill trace your cheek, the smell of smoke laces my palms and i hope for it to never wash away, despite of the sickness it may cause. brush the grape flavour of the filter over my lips, and ill try to taste it off of yours, the curse of my nervousness and the eternal fear of running out of time. i may tire but never of you (so close your eyes and hope with me) for moments unobscured by the teenage aimlessness and the desire to dream.