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Over the Sink


I wanted you to save me—isn't it amazing
how I can notice only some things;
I could have saved you—doesn't it amaze you
how you acknowledge only some things...

I'm over the sink now—you're still drinking;
how can you touch me when I'm thinking?
I wish I didn't have to but you make me have to
bend to hear you, stretch to trust you
and you complain how I analyze everything.
Without some string, you can't remember anything.

your eyes are the bluest plastic,
your tongue is red elastic...

I wish you'd never touched me—your hands
have never left me, like feeding leeches
on my sweet body
and no amount of time or space or decency
can get them off of me...
so disappear
or climb out of the atmosphere.
Watch what you wear
and fill your closet full of air.

your eyes are the bluest plastic,
your tongue is red elastic...

you’re armed with a fine-print asterisk,

alarms and bricks and flashes

words and music by Leslie Dean
© Leslie Dean