daysixteen.

a persistent perspiration.
i feel you, cradled,
in the dew on my upper lip.
my eyes digress.
i know patience would advise otherwise,
but there's something alluring about
the hint of sanctity in this mess.

a familiar tone clouds the air,
like the condensation on her bathroom mirror.
and now i'm waiting,
just like she's waiting,
but these images won't bleed any clearer.

fingers cross between cages,
tips caress hollow ribs.
and as she smiles, the taste lingers,
through the buzzing of
'she never was'
and 'i never did.'

my random musings are nondescript,
only forlorn, at best.
like how incessant thoughts
eradicate need of small talk
in the moment
gravity
beckons
her dress.