The sly, the slick and the broken

How do I find myself hearing our personal matters amongst lips who have not known your soft full lips, and the taste of mango you always seem to have in any lipstick or chapstick. From people who have not felt my embrace tightly exposing my soul with strong emotional contact of our eyes, speaking volumes silently, behind the rapid beating of our hearts. Soft to heavy breathing finding it's rhythm we find ourselves outside of time itself. A special meeting, a location fleeting for hearts as ours; Tattered and in pieces in the chest like puzzle pieces in a box. That always seems to bring out the defense, but where we are now, the walls begin to fall.

How is it that I am noticing people who smile at me so sly and to the side. You can tell there is tension but not thick, this tension is curvy, it's pearlescent meaning two toned, at first glance it seems as if the elephant just walked in on another note it feels so Mysterious but off.

There's that scent.

Butterflies scattered inside of her stomach, while her memories press along her breast like finger tips slowly and firm. Erotic enough to make her jump in that split second almost forgetting where she is.

Sweat, heavy breathing and a slight loss of confidence can be seen and heard from her high heels. Every.... Single.... Step...

How is it that I find myself around such slick individuals, giving me a deck of cards and I am not aware of the game.

Silver tongue witty conversation being held from people I only seen with masks. Emotions hidden in plain sight. Now though, emotions are high. The energy is high. But there is still something not right.

Theres that voice.

How can something so soft and calm, seem to pierce the crowds over powering jumble. To be heard clearly and with surprising conviction. " There you are!"

There's that woman again.

There's that man again.

How is it I always seem to find you with people who talk so slick. Idk the difference from a truthful conversation or if I'm being quick witted to buying into a beautiful disaster waiting to shake hands.

How is it, I always seem to find you amongst situations so messy and full of drama just being around it makes me feel like I'm being watched, loathed by eyes that seem to have a hunger.

Mixed signals now cloud the whole room to the point of a slight scent, a scent of sage or maybe something earthy. Trying to find its footing; grounded to ideas that seem to only swim in the winds behind the wings of a good time.

There goes the fun.

Misery

How is it the broken always seem to find common ground in areas they are most hurt and full of traumas that linger to the spirit with open arms from a host to drugged to realize the pain it is really in. Now only a shell chasing a fleeting feeling to lost sensations of a moment in life not worth the time to understand.

There's that scent.

There's that voice

There's that woman again

There's that man again

There goes the fun

Misery

Messy