pass it off like a chore, we run late
racking for rationale to berate me
the coffee has gotten cold and i summon
patience as my fragile heart beats like a drum
this is not, is not language
no this is not love at all
my veins shiver as a spectacle
and you're stoic and tall
get up off the floor
i know this is a blurred, pitiful galore
and we all find solace in heartache and grief
some sequence of warm, self loathing relief
we can't speak and
you poetically depart from me
written words like a marquee
and i can't move and i can't speak
this language is foreign to me
i look outside, what do i see
steam off the asphalt from all the heat
and all the asphalt that i see
the steam just seems to follow me
and i can't leave without acquaintance
tagging along behind me
listen to me when i talk, in a trance
good advice bounces right off of you at first glance
we're alone in public spaces, we're always alone
isolated embrace, you're error prone
you keep calling, shaken up
dissecting every word thereof
this is not, this is not a language
no this is not, could not be love