Her eyes are young and easy

Her eyes are young and easy
Like glassed honey, my mind roams
Around her lips and down her body,
Like one million bees, one million thoughts
Every sting a little death

Her summer and carefree, robed in rare feather
Flying with the fireflies in the glittered neon
Towards the rush of flourescent youth,
And away from the doomed timidity
Of labouring singers and untouched truth

Nocturnes from her body,
But knowing the dormant honesty,
An imitation of my dreams,
Even if it's the original
From the painted hand,
And in our fondest farewells,
I cannot attain anything more
Than what I am let to understand,
Only the seed of a kiss,
Dug too deep for me to see
Or know that the root is there

Neither an echo or a prelude,
Nor distant melodies of the strings,
Nothing to grasp, though my butter hands
Would slip and trip in my lightness,
Both eyes to the sky, the ruby blues,
My feet firmly on the wind,
Only a collision stops the course,
Not some dismal, hopeless courting.