there is less and less to say...

there is less and less to say
as there's more and more unsaid
rumpled echo fades to whisper
fading vapour's dance til dead

she'd whiffed a sense in april
in the whoosh that trailed him in
then, he'd seen the purple letters
in an unfamiliar pen

a chill on every cocktail
now, 'fore cubes had hit the glass
she'd drain his cock as punishment
he'd try to use her ass

his quest to spy her papers
as she tried to smell her smell
in each evening's dark reigned silence;
their's a fourth-floor walk-up hell

they spoke in jots on papers
left in places they'd both find
he'd shower 'fore he kissed her
her smile more wood than kind

she took the train to boston
leaving chelsea far behind
the acute misunderstandings
her accusatory mind

she read the purple letters
for the second time today
before the stop she'd freshen up
no scent of him to stay
 
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no shit.

can you believe ben afleck has 2 oscars?

yeah. i know. recycling other idiots idiocy with that...


i'm new here.
 
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