2013-04-14
too old
My early morning Sunday is one of wine-colored roads leading into old Bibles and damp fiction.
I want to smell and taste your body, the sighs you exhale in the dusk of American flags and drive-in movie screens.
I want to hold you and be held by you, release a caravan of echoes down the spiral of your ear.
I wish we knew each other before I was too old to be interesting.