Tonight, for what seems like the first time
in a million plus years, we spoke in harsh tones,
and every glance you could afford me
felt somewhat cheap and ultimately misleading.
I spent every dime on the sunset,
but holes have burned my pockets.
My point of view flickers in quick movie edits,
while you wax prophetic about my tolerance.
This only happens when we're laughing, laughing, laughing,
complicated children with sophisticated troubles.
I would have kissed your dialect, darling,
but I caught you grinning at my vocab.
We keep on laughing (etc.), and I swear to God I know your name,
but your aroma is definitely something I cannot place.
You're liable to burn my ear off with all those giggles,
so please just stop complaining about my fever.
I promise I'll stop shaking if you can stop swearing.
All conversation and plenty of activity, this dream breaks
down in the middle of nowhere, I keep screaming
to let you know I'm all right, the truth is,
all I need is some rest and in the morning
I'll be better. Just as long as we keep talking
and spilling secrets like vinegar rose petals.
The night swallows every inch of our culture,
and I keep thinking about the way you laugh
and smile and protect me from the comfort of madness.
But, in all fairness, it just occurred to me, my ancient tongue
spares nobody obscure syntax and ill-forgotten verbs.
Oh God, they sound like wolves when they laugh, laugh, laugh!
Something about your karma shines through my coma,
and I'm suddenly tasting your aura as I'm suffocating.
This whole moment feels like a private joke,
but I'll let you in on a little secret, if you promise to behave:
I never meant to break your spirit or share my soul,
but you're a vision of destructive porportions.
Man, if they catch us dancing, we'll just smile and shout
birdlike obscenities, twisting toothless fairy tales
into cohesive drama, but it will be another million plus years
before we ever stop laughing, laughing, laughing.
