Her Name Was Scarlet… 
Yeah, She Liked To Sleep

Our windowsills swell and creek’n speak in rainy tongues

As its gray noise wisps outside the window’s TV-like pane

Channels constantly changing

I want nothing more but to hold you in my autumn arms 

and watch the world fall gracefully into the gutters

Only to form a bed of leaves for our winter napping

Time itself will never be the same

Now that we’ve swallowed the seasons 

our bodies become cameras

With film fixed and focused eyes

A storm was stored in our pupils perspective polaroid


Novembers turning imitates our song of sweet nothings

Joshua Tool- 12/18/2006


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