I feel like a boy with peeping eyes, standing tip-toed peering over the wall. I watch you walk the empty lots in a city of filled-in holes. I watch you dance like snowflakes fluttering on the crumbling streets, and I swore you had wings, twisting above me, as I wore my crooked smile.
Right below our feet, nothing became something, and then died again, but I am starting to believe you were always here, with your smile you don’t easily give away. You wander this fractured town, caring nothing for the scars you walk above, and the buildings crumble before you. What is it like on your side of the wall?
I wonder if you’d look differnt, away from this foreign light. I wonder if you’d laugh at my foolish attempts at humor, if you’d care for my fumblings at all. I’d love to touch you with my cold fingertips just to make you smile. If I was born tomorrow, would you be my wife?