of the reconstruction of civilization & the tone of present days

i don't want to smell you on my hands
and then have to be here with these dweebs
playing chess and making too much of it
because there's not much to make of anything

20 something cigarettes
20 hours awake
20 something these are the years our lives are for
20 lovely days in the passage of her grace

i don't want to smell you on my hands
when i hold them by my face as i lay
in bed tonight

i've tried but
the smell of woman doesn't come off with soap

sleeping with that smell
is like sitting on your hand before masturbating

when it's all numb
you do the deed and
get the impression you're with someone else

it's all well and good to close your eyes
and believe
but the warm body is always presently absent
no matter how tightly your eyes are shut

finally something that wasn't spent
finally something cost
finally something worth saving the negatives
finally something lost

i don't want to take a bath for an hour
and soak the preminition of you away and out of my skin

wrinkles filled with hot water
that take up the space of memory within the cells
and lets you begin to forget
one
single
moment
at a time

i don't want to smell you on my hands
but all the same i'll hold them near my face
as i sleep and i will dream of you

and in the end my dreams are my own pleasure
and my heart my own box