Would we taste the same if we dripped with the same Vehemance?
And can we go back to a time where we shyly hid our middle names,
And touch was a thing we weren't used to?
Silence hid the same way our gaze did from each other.
Our feet were a thing to be studied, it seemed.
As we fumbled awkwardly,
Our hands a thing to be twisted.
And twisted again.

But would they interlock the way we longed?

Copious amounts of emotion filtered through our words.
And the right ear could pick out a note of loneliness.
The right nose, pick up the scent of our nervous fever as we committed to something uncertain.

Unsure.
We were so unsure.

...Excuses.

And we silently inquire
Is this the way it was supposed to be?
Do we connect the same way we had intended to?
Are we tainted with appetite, now, that we've had a taste of giving in?
This passion, can it be found, or are we to invent it from the wrong feelings?

We apostatize each others causes.
We watched it Decay, but still we clung.
Your attentions were split with the silence.
You desert us now, but still you're here.

Echoes.

Can we drift so far apart without a note of virtue?
Can we fade so easily without being washed away?

Unclean.
We felt so unclean.

Preeminent bliss lingers in the background.
And it waits for us to hold it.




But god damned it, we can't hold it.