|I'm chilled, filled with shielding doubt
A drag from your cigarette tells me about
Your eyes haven't already revealed
They're peeled but not wide
Healed? Not mine.
Look at the two of us, love
Our hearts, a protrusion
And it's the middle of December
Through the snowfall I see
who I've been
You exhale, I'm taking one in
An ash hits the ground and it grays the ice
The shift in contrast is the reality of vice
With a straight face I say we
Do our damnedest to shake the illusion
The distorted image of a lens post traumatic
Emphatic, I reach for your hand and begin to mend
It's just an understanding
© Copyright 2011 Tony Simons (UN: nearjat at Writing.Com).
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