� This could be the song � 2006-10-19 � 10:34 p.m. �
I have a twisting sense in my conscience tonight... a sense of what... I don't know.
I've had it all day... and all last night.
I had a dream of flannel and palm trees ... and long stem cherries and sea breezes... and my tongue working its way around the stem into a heart... and then a knot. My lips were salty.
Bronze legs wrapped around me from the back... tangled like my hair in the wind... I could feel the touch on the small of my neck... and a thumb rubbing the square of my jaw... mmm large hands for holding me up, I thought... any hand won't do.
Hands good enough to wage a war for... hands good enough to riot... hands good enough to spend the money on a pound of longstems I never intend to eat....
Hands good enough to build to a hut...
Past the flannel sand and beyond the breeze I could hear a voice carry. The cherry on my tongue stopped tasting... our bodies felt light.
"It only goes to show... that you will be mine, by takin' our time."
What is... and what should never be....
My conscience aches... for no reason.
I wish there was a face... and a hut... and a pound of longstem cherries.
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