By the Footsteps of the Flock
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How many shapes do you see in my face?
How many lines must you draw
Before my form is rendered?
How many more before I am unrecognizable?
Were I to change them, would I maintain my identity?
Am I nothing but the formless expression of my desires?
An abstract statement of sanguine lust?
My mind presents me with no understanding
All I know is the cycle of my breath
The rhythm in my ears
And your tongue on my neck
Am I redeemed by your body? Am I freed by your blood?
By the nectar dripping from your lips
Or the wine now flowing through my teeth?
If I can't lift my pain
We'll drown it together
In the shelter beneath the shadow it casts
Where no one sees us
Where the lines of our faces blur
Where our words enrapture yet repel
Where we wet our withered skin
Where we mend our crippled hands
Of you, nothing can be said
Of you, I can't stop speaking