Desert hold - 5/1/o6 mon.

In the stillness of my mind
a thought creeps on by
like an unwilling vagabond
that's left alone to die

His long hair flows through my fingers
Ebony stands so soft against my hand
The texture reminds me of something like silk
or even more accurately, fine grains of sand

Dark copper eyes seem to gaze into my soul
Trying to tell me all that I should know

Our seam is perfect, and fits together just fine
It makes me wonder how I used to live, before we were intertwined

This ink in my mouth is bitter to taste
But I'd rather have this broken pen, then look you in the face