spark.

i get a better high
from making bad decisions
and i haven't cleansed
my mind in weeks--
lingering fingers grasp at twisted paper,
they tip-toe over mine,
savoring the touch
before they return to parted lips,
inhale then exhale,
choke just to breathe you in.
we're comfortable in saying nothing,
die out the obvious statements
in a paper cup;
i know the sun is pretty,
i know you want to kiss me,
i know the nights feel longer
when you miss your bed the most,
a conscious twisting and turning
until the numbness settles in,
until we meet another sunrise
and its familiar spark.