Gregorian

Kissing
Is a kiss still a kiss if it feels just like this? Like a strong undertow past my small cupid's bow? Can it turn into song if we go on too long? Show me ways to align, dual tongues creep like vines. Vapor heated commands, steady dancing of hands. Close your eyes but don't miss when it's over tell me this: will my kiss, then, be missed if I kiss you like this?

Tugging
Your song is on a constant loop. I dance to it on still winter nights as it plays in my mind with unyielding vigor. My feet tap tap taps the cold hardwood floor, replicating the steady beat. I'll never stop. I am your doe-eyed wind-up singing-dancing puppet doll, mein meister. Love me, abuse me, pull my strings, hold my steady wooden hand. I promise we'll never stop.

Running
You can't run when your feet are cement blocks and your heart is a cargo train chugging 25 tonnes of black coal right up to your eyes and the way it burns violent flames, it shows, no iridescent glow, no sparks just pupils of black liquid gold You can't run if your mind is an ephemeral land, sometimes swallowed by sea, at times swallowed by sand, or a dull, flat plane ending only at a nebulous line that divides the earth and sky I am standing so still I can hear my knees turning into jagged stone