Speak the language of love to me, that harsh tone, my spirit becomes turned on. You’re so perfect, I’ve been perfected. Nothing I rather do, none than mask in our masks recognizable to me and you. I look away from me to you, I actually feel the new found blue, unexpected and out of the blue. Thoughts don’t linger to long and now I remember you started saying you couldn’t stay to long. And I settle. And we would bask, wear our mask, love perfects its dance.
I mean, I rather be in your graces, can’t sound like I’ve been up all night pacing, sick, wondering, searching for you to deliver the angelic blues. Any traces? No avail, you’re to no avail, you’re not avail to avail… I may need a few advils, narcotics, love, or in your words “whatever takes me higher”. Proclaimed to love and live too high for this, set in stone driftng sea to sea, still high off this.
1990passions 