illicit.

staring out a publicated window, wishing i could see what all you see
laying out the past like the distance on a map
. . . hearing your broken voice sing.

three am, but neither one is sleeping.
one of us must surely know why?
stretched across your bed; hearing your voice inside my head
but when will you ever decide?

and you keep tossing out those theories,
developing a taste for what used to be.

i've got a headache, but i've never thought so clearly.
the city lights-- a broadside through the rain
with a paler shade of blue that i half-wish i never knew
and a lifetime i wish that i could gain.

Still, i swear to you i'm not a liar. i never said a thing you didn't know.
and while you chase acoustic chords, you drink a little more . . .
hanging your, "i'd like to be alone."

And you keep tossing out your theories--
begging me to breathe, so listen to me
developing a taste for what used to be . . .

our hands are cold, but winter's almost over
with devils' sought to break these fateful nights
the sun is warm against your skin; thin but so divine.
barely dead, but babe . . . we're still alive.