Cactus Man

It's been a bit. I remember the freckle on your right hip, Shoplifting with Triss. Your number ends in 06. You wrote poems, Romantic type; hopeless— Don't ask where I'm going, I'll take you with me in the morning

There are certain emptinesses That might never be filled— Don't we all notice? Haven't we all always known? I wonder what fills them, What keeps us from knowing— Don't ask where I'm going, Don't ask why you don't need to know

The world becomes a zoetrope, Everything; your sillouhette. Language is, at once, inadequate. Transdermal, I kneel— And I wonder how long we have left Before we are jenga of the unsaid, But for now the inadequacy of language is Within your skin on my skin

Haven't we all always known? —I'll take you with me in the morning, I want to take you somewhere nice— Dont ask me where I'm going, Don't notice; Just know that The look in your eyes, Men have fought wars for, And will evermore In scores