28 April 2012
She comes down, still as a mouse what else but riddles are hid in this house? Her dress like an aura, clung to her legs in quick, wet, chilled, morning dew dregs on the grass. She passes her hand over buds her eyes look concerned, does she hold my answers? This body, this voice in cadence decays - she is scared I was too stoned to show that I cared
We go to town, dressed in our heads as fishermen heading towards the seabed my fingers - plethoras of scraps, gathered scars from anchors and hooks laid on in barbs in thick reeds. We pass our hands over our boats her eyes look demure, bored with the ropes this shoddy excuse and lie slowly feeds, scales bared we were too stoned to show that we cared
J. x
We Were Too Stoned To Show That We Cared • Opuss № I