When I see the stony silence, or when I can smell the look of her discontentment for miles.
When I can hear the color of the beach sand colored eyes when they look for too long, or taste the sound of your voice.
When I can see the flavor of apple cider, or hear the smell of chocolate cake.
I know you've gotten too close again,
and have made a mess,
of whatever sense I had left.
YOU ARE READING
(BASKET CASE)
Poetry"One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple." -Jack Kerouac
