Damien Crosse & Francesco D’Macho.
(Source: black3n, via hardcorejudas)
Hair falls over my face. Lips touch my shoulders.
I do not know their owners. They wander leashless
through the park. Our fingers are dowsing rods,
but there is no wetness. We move our mouths
in rotation, passing plates at a holiday dinners. Go back
for seconds. There is nothing filling about numbness.
This is a dull waltz. There is no music.
The dancers are all staring at the floor.
NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY