It’s illegal to light up inside
In the dark and the cold,
In between hushed hands,
A spark is created.
Hugged by curled fingers and nurtured into flame,
It touches the tip of the gunpowder trail
That hangs from dried lips, both cracking and pale,
Curling upwards with the ghost
Of a laugh from a joke he’s heard twice before.
Lips bitten and raw,
Hiding the teeth worn away by the twice-weekly rings
Of white powdered sins,
Shaking in the excuses and apologies and loss
Struck by the remorse that each new night brings.
But in that instant the spark,
That rush, and that warmth,
It feels almost like love
Two names scratched in the bark,
Of his childhood home,
Pushed to the back of his mind,
Because he knows that their lives were only meant to be entwined
For that brief gap in time,
And as the cigarette goes out
And the cold climbs inside,
That bright spark in him wavers and dies.
I could emit sparks too (they might not be as brief)
I’m in the mood for love:
I’m in the mood to split myself open searching
For the pieces of myself that press together
With someone else’s heart.
I want to taste that rush:
I want to taste the wanting of more
And the wanting of less, and that dizzying feel
Of lungs filling with sparks.
I want to emit those sparks:
I want those sparks to find someone else
As I find myself
In the stretching of time
And its falling apart
And its coming together to form something new
That spark of a something that’s barely thought through –
I’m in the mood for love.
In the dark and the cold,
In between hushed hands,
A spark is created.
Hugged by curled fingers and nurtured into flame,
It touches the tip of the gunpowder trail
That hangs from dried lips, both cracking and pale,
Curling upwards with the ghost
Of a laugh from a joke he’s heard twice before.
Lips bitten and raw,
Hiding the teeth worn away by the twice-weekly rings
Of white powdered sins,
Shaking in the excuses and apologies and loss
Struck by the remorse that each new night brings.
But in that instant the spark,
That rush, and that warmth,
It feels almost like love
Two names scratched in the bark,
Of his childhood home,
Pushed to the back of his mind,
Because he knows that their lives were only meant to be entwined
For that brief gap in time,
And as the cigarette goes out
And the cold climbs inside,
That bright spark in him wavers and dies.
I could emit sparks too (they might not be as brief)
I’m in the mood for love:
I’m in the mood to split myself open searching
For the pieces of myself that press together
With someone else’s heart.
I want to taste that rush:
I want to taste the wanting of more
And the wanting of less, and that dizzying feel
Of lungs filling with sparks.
I want to emit those sparks:
I want those sparks to find someone else
As I find myself
In the stretching of time
And its falling apart
And its coming together to form something new
That spark of a something that’s barely thought through –
I’m in the mood for love.