Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Your love. Your love. Your love. Turns to ashes in my mouth and dust in my blood.
Not that I have a choice- but, if I did- I'd wish that all my faculties remain intact except for sight.
Hearing, I need. Touch, I cherish. Taste, is essential. Smell, is crucial. Sight- well, sight is a hindrance to my intellect. Seeing is the opposite of believing.
I believe I'd be a better person- an endearing human being- if I couldn't see. I believe I'd be a more sensitive lover if I had to imagine the beauty of your face- of your body under covers- with kisses, licks, fingertips, sounds, and scents; solely.
Sight is overrated- you see? I'd poke out my own eyes in order to perceive my reality clearer. If I weren't such a coward.
Your heartbeat is the soundtrack to my failure. Sadly. Sadly your Cadillac is no longer pink.
And, Bruce Springsteen has become my best friend- to the bitter, bitter end.
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