Anesthetic is wearing off

*Image found HERE

Anesthetic is wearing off

When I am making it with you
everything is blue
kind of like a mid February morning

like sunlight looking like
dirt
on suburban streets;
a man sits sells his flowers.
If you are pretty enough, he will give u one.

Do you want the flower?
how do you pluck it,
tell me specifics,
give me calculations and charts,
tell me coordinates
I’ll be subordinate
cause distance is the outstretched arm
of the pale in Renaissance paintings
dangling a cloth over an armchair,
a Thespian inheritance;
we feel real love in the spleen.

Hold my shoulders;
I won’t scream.
Pluck the wings.
Get it over with.
Don’t ever get it over with.
Don’t ever get over it

Think of candid forest paths
and deer that roam it,
think of mountaintops
and pines oozing out years
sticky and sour;
make innocence filthy.

When I’m making it like you
it feels like candy-nothings,
cause its so gently blue
kinda like my eyes,
kinda like your eyes,
kinda like sea at 5 in the morning.