brainhellhole overspill

in the grainy rhythm

from my grandfather’s

turntable, we slowly

danced the night. the

crickets can only cry

in envy.

we danced the balse -

one, two, three, and

our hands explored

the world of

ourselves. his soft,

moist lips waltzed

against my cheek.

that was years ago

when the breeze was

warm - as warm as

his nervous breath

crawling down my

chin.

we danced the balse,

that was years ago,

when we were

young, when we

didn’t care.

but alas, that was

years ago when our

love was warm and

we didn’t care, we

didn’t know the music

fades too.

the balse, years ago,

(when we were

young and uninitiated

boys) like his eyes

now, has become

dark and blind and

gone.

~ by geniusness on April 16, 2008.