Brooks trickle streams that run the rivers. Water moving in neverending curves across the faces of land, trailing like makeup melted under the weight of a tear.
What is it you're searching for in this room where I constantly look for myself?
When I stare, you look away. But when I turn back, it's you that's watching me. There's more there than you're willing to say. But then again, it's never been easy for me to tell, either.
And so nervous like the tides, we ebb and flow under the pull of sister moons far away. Instincts driven by hunger and heat; reactions quick and sudden, like the shiver of unsuspecting skin against the touch of January's breath. I have the scent -- But am I the hunted
Streams pulse through me.Strange how any disturbance to the surface creates circles and chaos, while the undeniable movements underneath go on forever, yet hardly ever make a ripple.
I am an ocean under myself.I reign
I evaporate
I wave, and
I crash.
What is it you're searching for in this room where I constantly look for myself?
When I stare, you look away. But when I turn back, it's you that's watching me. There's more there than you're willing to say. But then again, it's never been easy for me to tell, either.
And so nervous like the tides, we ebb and flow under the pull of sister moons far away. Instincts driven by hunger and heat; reactions quick and sudden, like the shiver of unsuspecting skin against the touch of January's breath. I have the scent -- But am I the hunted
..or just haunted?
[Listening to: Goldfrapp, "Tiptoe"]
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