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skonen_bladesIt’s the deepest cuts that take the longest time to start bleeding. Seconds pass as the body figures out that it’s really serious this time before crying blood from a new mouth.
It’s the same with broken hearts. Cupids are claim jumpers. They’re deaf kids that like to set things on fire.
Love is a leg sweep from a judo master. It’s a diving board for a pool that may or may not be empty. It’s cigarette burns on church pews. It’s that empty place at the dining table. It’s 2d6 against Godzilla.
There’s a rhythm to love. A purring idle of spoon to mouth. A cobalt ravager of dreams playing the vibraphone through two tin cans and a string into your ear. Your best friend’s window is open and it’s summer vacation. Love floods over the banks, committing open-heart perjury on the witless stand, dooming us to be held in contempt bred from familiarity.
Love is the raft. Love is the river.
Whiles foxes trot and bugs jitter, I know that as sure as a pair of mismatched socks is a sign of a person with more important things on his or her mind, spring’s a comin’. Turn those turtle shells into bongos and let’s pick up the pace. Ninjas, fly your kites. Hunters, dry your linen. And all you scoreboard announcers out there, spray your throats with kerosene and kool-aid.
Spring’s doing the watusi down school hallways with a big fat smile on his face.
This time around, love’s picking up hitch hikers. Show a little leg.
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It’s the same with broken hearts. Cupids are claim jumpers. They’re deaf kids that like to set things on fire.
Love is a leg sweep from a judo master. It’s a diving board for a pool that may or may not be empty. It’s cigarette burns on church pews. It’s that empty place at the dining table. It’s 2d6 against Godzilla.
There’s a rhythm to love. A purring idle of spoon to mouth. A cobalt ravager of dreams playing the vibraphone through two tin cans and a string into your ear. Your best friend’s window is open and it’s summer vacation. Love floods over the banks, committing open-heart perjury on the witless stand, dooming us to be held in contempt bred from familiarity.
Love is the raft. Love is the river.
Whiles foxes trot and bugs jitter, I know that as sure as a pair of mismatched socks is a sign of a person with more important things on his or her mind, spring’s a comin’. Turn those turtle shells into bongos and let’s pick up the pace. Ninjas, fly your kites. Hunters, dry your linen. And all you scoreboard announcers out there, spray your throats with kerosene and kool-aid.
Spring’s doing the watusi down school hallways with a big fat smile on his face.
This time around, love’s picking up hitch hikers. Show a little leg.
tags
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Date: 2 Jun 2008 13:10 (UTC)Nice!
no subject
Date: 2 Jun 2008 17:14 (UTC)no subject
Date: 3 Jun 2008 01:06 (UTC)no subject
Date: 3 Jun 2008 01:08 (UTC)no subject
Date: 5 Jun 2008 04:52 (UTC)beautiful rhythm.
no subject
Date: 5 Jun 2008 05:24 (UTC)Lothian Fire and Rescue
Date: 10 Jun 2008 17:21 (UTC)http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/scotland/edinburgh_and_east/7443934.stm
Re: Lothian Fire and Rescue
Date: 10 Jun 2008 17:34 (UTC)Re: Lothian Fire and Rescue
Date: 10 Jun 2008 17:38 (UTC)happy tuesday.
Re: Lothian Fire and Rescue
Date: 10 Jun 2008 17:40 (UTC)Re: Lothian Fire and Rescue
Date: 10 Jun 2008 17:41 (UTC)love it!!