So this is what a hangover feels like. - speak slow, tell me love -
where do we go? oh, oh.
tell me, did the bones collide? She read the books dreamily, in the mild stupor that the very young acquire when the sun is liquid gold and the air is sultry and perfumed with summer. Stories unraveled beneath her fingertips, the words shimmering faintly in the shade as ancient history and the very distant future rewove themselves, shaping new forms the likes of which had never been seen.
little lover's so polite and oh, but she's only ever loved him behind doors and through locks and trembling under the covers like a child
she throws cliches around like rag dolls he's got his secrets and she's got her heart on her sleeve