R.E.M. hands,
pale
mortis,
dark hair tousled
in an uncontrolled
fashion with
all the crazy thoughts.
Occasional sounds &
flinches that I
cause
because
certainly you're
still alive
and not a dream.
God,
that smile makes me weak,
the first of the day,
and I don't know if I
should trust
those eyes that could
easily mislead me.
But I do,
I trust your face:
skin of an angel,
lips of a cherub,
mind of a mortal.
