time poured out from me, but it never got back up - Yolkhead

Such simple seasons go by unaffected Regarding the wrinkles on a discarded peach As we buzz like nothing in our wax paper wrappings In the inner lit window unable to see More than our faces that flicker like rain-lit Neon street stories that run out in vain Late-night cars tossing puddles to window-bound watchers Smelling rich coffee on my waitresses' name Bemoan how I handle this orchid of flesh Too fat and too nude where we wallow in lust Fingering life and then buried too quick As the world carries on with the fall maple rush [whistled tune] Do memories give to their prisoners life In October a hand that rests on red knees As I gobble down pancakes watching the lot Where silence is weeping off old maple trees Do memories give to their prisoners life In October a hand that rests on red knees As I gobble down pancakes watching the lot Where silence is weeping off old maple trees Bemoan how I handle this orchid of flesh Too fat and too nude where we wallow in lust Fingering life and then buried too quick As the world carries on with the fall maple rush [whistled tune] Do memories give to their prisoners life In October a hand that rests on red knees As I gobble down pancakes watching the lot Where silence is weeping off old maple trees Do memories give to their prisoners life In October a hand that rests on red knees As I gobble down pancakes watching the lot Where silence is weeping off old maple trees