You try to get under my skin
With silk strings of woven words
And once it worked,
Once it worked
And I let you in.

From melting toes to finger tips
I let that pulse invade my veins
For just one second.
Better, maybe,
But still not best.

A seasonal stir brings you back
To ice cold cups of lemonade.
You seem so sweet,
So sweet,
Outlined in sepia edges.

How does one judge human from beast,
Falter from character?
I lack evidence for habit,
Or do I say that
To avoid what I know?

The shades of gray stand out
Against a saturated world
Which leaks and spits
And blurs the lines
Beyond recognition.

Cups of yellow lemonade
Grow warm between our palms
While we work around
The same old questions
But find no answers.